The Lyre
by angelofnight
Summary: Sequel to "Beaute Et L'Ange" - Required first read to understand this story. And all AN's from first posting so please ignore.
1. Default Chapter

A/N: For the sake of storyline, I am going to change the fact that Christine had a daughter first in my previous story. She has now had a SON. I hope you don't mind too much. Yet I hadn't planned on going onward with the storyline, so I needs change it now. Thank you for your unending understanding.  
  
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It was a surprisingly warm day for the middle of winter in Boston, Massachusetts. There was no snow on the ground, as was common for such a time in the year, and the temperatures reached up into the mid-seventies. Perhaps it was fortunate for those standing anxiously at the docks, watching as 'The Commonwealth' docked. It had just arrived from Liverpool, England, on it's Maiden voyage, and a great many people were anxious to see this new creation. However common new ships were in Boston, it seemed the passenger ships were always crowded around so that people might have a glance at it.  
  
As the 1300 some-odd passengers crowded out of the ship, there was a clamor of excitement from all three classes. The voyage had been memorable and enjoyable to all, and the friends that had been made during the trip were separating with sometimes a teary eye. The first class had their luggage delivered to their carriages, while the second-class passengers would either grab their own or have it brought to their vehicles as the first class did. The third class scrounged through the luggage that was dumped onto the docks carelessly, searching for their bags before someone else claimed them.  
  
Through this crowd emerged a small family of three, all dressed in some of their finest clothes as they greeted America for the first time. The elder of the two females looked to be in her mid to late thirties, with long, light auburn hair that had hints of red to it - just like the man who stood at her side. She had the most amazing violet eyes that one could possibly imagine on any woman, while he had darker amber-hued eyes like pools of liquid resin.  
  
In their company was a youth who seemed to be in her mid teenaged years. With long reddish hair that held hints of brown in it, and eyes that appeared the color of tanzanite, more purple than blue, she seemed to be one of the most awe-struck ladies in the whole of the city. She'd seen plenty of large cities in her life, yet had never been outside one of two countries, and the other she'd only been in briefly, without a chance to admire the buildings around her. And the cities in those countries had not seemed half so modern as this one.  
  
"Papa, would you look over there?" She exclaimed as her father tried to put one of the lighter suitcases in her eager hands. Lifting a finger, she pointed towards a large theatre-like building. It truly wasn't anything very special. Yet she saw everything as special in these first moments.  
  
"Yes, yes, Lyre. I see!" The man exclaimed, chuckled despite his annoyance. "We're going to be living here, you know, Cherie. We'll have plenty of time to tour the city later on. For now, would you please help me with these bags? You know your mother can't lift them!"  
  
The youth turned to glance at her mother, who still had her arm in a brace from a riding accident that had occurred weeks before they were due to leave for England (and thence to Boston). With a hot blush, she quickly picked up the bags her father pointed to, and gave him a sheepish grin. He smiled tenderly at her in return, admiring her excitement and youth. Although he was not quite in his dotage - as everyone believed him to be quite a young father - he looked a little bit older than he was. Some unspoken horror had occurred early in her life, as his daughter remembered vaguely, that had caused him to age rapidly for a short time due to grief. It was never spoken of what had caused this grief. Her mother had refused to tell her, and whenever she had asked, her father would always give her a mournful smile and shake his head, dismissing her question.  
  
"Shall we go see our new house?"  
  
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A week passed, and the family settled into their small apartment on the upper levels of one of the tallest buildings the youth could remember seeing in quite some time. Taller buildings were popping up all over the world, from what she had heard; yet the tallest building she'd ever seen had been the Opera House, in Paris. She remembered how much the tall building had intimidated her when she used to go see her father perform when she was a toddler. Yet he'd stopped very shortly after the unspoken tragedy that had occurred at the time.  
  
Now he was a very successful businessman, a contractor for poor and wealthy clients alike. Once, even an Emperor had asked her father to design and build him a new wing for his palace. She couldn't remember which Emperor, from what country. Not anymore, she couldn't. Yet it didn't really matter to her. She only remembered the excitement the family had felt at the time.  
  
Sitting in the small parlor, she stared out the large window that let her look out onto the cobble-stoned streets below. People were dressed a bit differently here, although it wasn't such a great change from Paris that she stood out in a crowd. That helped her to become accustomed to the area much faster. Already she was to begin going to a private school in half of a month, and her father had hired her a piano teacher to continue the lessons he'd begun with her when she was only three. He was going to be so busy until his business had gotten a good start here in America, and he didn't want her to be deprived of the gift of music he claimed she had for the piano.  
  
"What are you thinking, my little Lyre?"  
  
Her father always called her that. Smiling, she turned to look up at him. The apartment was small, nothing at all like she remembered Paris being. The house he'd built them in France had been rather large and beautiful, yet he'd sold it for a cheap price to family friends when he'd been offered the job here in America. Even though it had meant leaving the two sisters of that same family behind, whom had been good friends to her, despite their age differences, she had been very happy that her father could come and build beautiful buildings in this fairly new country.  
  
"I was thinking that if you keep calling me Lyre, I am going to forget my real name." The youth replied tartly, sticking her tongue out at him playfully. His eyes widened, and then he laughed, wagging a finger at her. He came across the room towards her with such grace that it was like seeing an angel move. He'd always had that silent grace to him that awed her. She felt so clumsy and gawky in comparison.  
  
"Allyriane is much harder to pronounce." He reminded her, being just as teasing. "I see you're practicing. I'm glad I was able to get this piano so quickly. You lost a great deal of practice time on our journey here."  
  
"I won't forget how to play the piano in one month, Father." She said with a giggle. Smiling tenderly, he reached out to touch her hair, which she was always allowed to wear loose if they weren't in public. It wasn't exactly ladylike to have it down when out in the public eye. Still, in the house her parents didn't seem to care all that much about what the public considered proper.  
  
"Let me hear you play the 'Appassionata'." He urged her softly. "You were getting quite good at it before we moved.  
  
Obediently, her hands fell into proper position over the keys, and she began to play. Music filled the entire room, and poured out into the whole of their small apartment like a tidal wave, and she felt her father abruptly grip her shoulders from behind, as though he'd been physically knocked back by it. Closing her eyes, Allyriane bit on her lower lip softly, and continued to play on, knowing that her breathing had gotten just a smidgen heavier, and that his probably had too. When she played with her heart, as she always did when her father was the audience, it seemed they had to struggle to keep their hearts and souls in their bodies.  
  
When she was almost through with the piece, her fingers fumbled at the most climactic moment. She still had yet to memorize that part, although she had been trying for weeks before her lessons halted in order for the packing and moving to be accomplished. Blushing, she turned to look up at her father, who just barely relinquished his hold on her shoulders. His eyes were still closed, and it took him a moment for his breathing to calm.  
  
"Papa?" She asked softly, and his eyes finally opened. She loved the depth of those eyes. She always had. Yet the most wonderful thing about him was his deep and resonating voice. It never ceased to calm her after a nightmare, or sooth her when she was unbearably unhappy. Now that she had come of the age when her moods could change so swiftly and so drastically, he'd started to sing to her more often than he had when she was tiny.  
  
"That was wonderful, Cherie." He murmured. "Now perhaps you would like to work on the rest?" He waved his hand gracefully towards a box he'd placed on the nearby chair. She hadn't even noticed he'd carried it into the room.  
  
"My music came!" Allyriane gasped excitedly, scraping back the piano bench to move to the box. "I hope they didn't forget any of it! It was good of Madame Madeline to send it after us."  
  
"Yes, it was." Her father replied with a quiet smile.  
  
"Erik! Allyriane! Supper will be ready shortly!"  
  
Her father turned towards the tiny kitchen, smiling. His wife had rarely made supper once they'd gotten so much money from his profession in Paris. He'd hired her cooks and maids to do all of the work for the woman he would sometimes call his queen. Yet he remembered how well she used to cook before that. Her meals could be heavenly.  
  
"All right, Izzy." He called gently. That was his nickname for her mother, whose name was Isabelle. He turned, touching Allyriane's wrist as she was about to snatch up some of her sheet music. "Go help your mother, would you? You'll have to learn to do these things, unless you marry a very high class man." 


	2. Chapter Two

Chapter Two  
  
"Father, you can't keep Kat locked up in this house with you! She's thirteen! Let her see a bit of the world! She's not going to grow up to be mother! She's still going to be Kat!"  
  
Charles grit his teeth, hating to have to argue with his father like this. It was the same every weekend, when he came home from his private school in Boston. At seventeen, he knew more than most young men his age. He'd lived a very privileged life, after all. He grew up going to the best schools, and having the best tutors at home. Even before he started getting a real education, he remembered being pampered by flighty nannies, and solemn-faced servants. His tenth birthday present had been a brilliantly performing black mare that had supposedly been tamed by the best trainers, after being captured in the west.  
  
His sister Katherine had been the subject of argument ever since he had been sent to Boston in his fourteenth year. His sister had begged and pleaded for him to take her with him. Yet his father had forbidden it. At the time, it had of course been the right decision. Yet the iron rule, which she lived under at home, grew worse with his constant absence. Without her big brother to argue in her behalf about going to birthday parties for her friends, and going to the nearby school for ladies instead of having an at-home instructor; it seemed that the precious jewel that was the sister he adored had been completely caged.  
  
His father was only so possessive over Katherine because she was the spitting image of their mother, whom had died after complications with infections shortly after giving birth to her. The older she became, the more closely his father drew her to his side. The more possessive he became. Charles understood what he was thinking; that when Katherine grew up she would simply become their mother. Yet such was totally irrational belief. In his never-ending grief for the death of his wife, their fathers' already pale hair had grown snowy white. He became increasingly insane with each year, it seemed, although it only showed when it came to his protectiveness of Katherine.  
  
"I told you no, Charles! What about that don't you understand?" His father was raging at him, clutching a tumbler of brandy so tightly in one hand that Charles was certain it would shatter. It was heavy crystal, but he had broken it in his fist before. It was not impossible. "Now we only have two more hours until you have to be at the train station. Your sister has missed you very much, and we've only spent this whole weekend arguing. Sometimes I think it's your favorite pastime here! Go spend these last hours with her."  
  
Sighing, Charles shook his head, and turned to walk out without saying good-bye. If his father could be so damn stubborn, then so could he. Making his way down the hall and up a servants' staircase, he made his way upstairs to his sisters' apartments. She needed plenty of rooms to herself, considering that Raoul never let her go anywhere. She'd fashioned several unused rooms of the rather small mansion into a parlor/sitting room, a music room, and a bedroom. She then, of course, had her own private bath. The room that she was in most, which seemed to make Raoul all the more mad, was the music room. She would sit and play the piano for hours, or perhaps use their mothers' old exercise books to try and sing.  
  
He found her in that room, tinkering playfully at a song called the 'Appassinoata.' He knew next to nothing about music, but he thinks that was what it was called. She sat quietly at the piano; her mop of honey- gold hair falling over her shoulders, decorated in pale violet ribbons and bows. The ribbons matched her dress, which was made in a slightly older style with large hoop skirts, and tight corsets. Lifting her azure eyes to him as he came in, she smiled brightly, squaring her shoulders as though to make herself seem womanlier with her pubescent frame.  
  
"Did you talk to father again?" She asked softly. She was trying to be polite and hopeful, yet she'd confided in him many times before that when the arguments downstairs were at their most heated moments, she could hear them shouting over the sound of her music, no matter how loud and hard she played.  
  
"He still won't let you come with me." He sighed, moving to sit beside her. She looked down with a solemn nod. They both loved their father dearly, yet this was not a healthy life for her to be in. They both knew it. Even their father knew it. Yet he was not going to give in, and release his daughter from the prison of being her mothers' spitting image.  
  
"When will you come home again?" She asked. He came by often on weekends, usually twice a month. Yet as of late, he had been coming by a little less. She was lucky to see him once a month. Even if he were there every weekend, there would be such horrific fights downstairs that he'd leave without even seeing her, so that he would not take his anger out on her.  
  
"I'll come next weekend." He promised, putting an arm about her shoulders. "I love you, Kat. You know that, don't you?"  
  
"I love you too, Charles." She looked up at him, a twinkle in her azure eyes. She'd almost used her little nickname for him, and he was grateful she'd restrained herself. However inoffensive the nickname, he didn't like hearing it now that he considered himself a man. Charlie was hardly the name of a man.  
  
Standing, he kissed her cheek quickly.  
  
"Next weekend." He said gently. "We'll all have dinner together Friday night, and I'll spend all of Saturday with you, all right? I won't even start to talk with Father again about this until Sunday morning before I leave."  
  
She chuckled.  
  
"Friday night is not going to get here fast enough." She insisted. Laughing, Charles gave her a formal bow, in the old tradition his father had once taught him, and then left, closing the door gently behind him.  
  
Before he could walk out of the front door with his suitcase in hand, his father had to start one final argument with him. It was all the same mindless jabber, which had no sense or logic behind it. His father simply had to constantly have the last word in everything. If it had been anyone else, Charles would have gladly missed his train to continue the battle of words.  
  
When he was finally on the train back to Boston, he felt as though he had a severe hangover. Not that he'd ever been drunk, mind you. He barely ever had even touched the wine he was allowed at the dinner table when he was at home. It was something about the taste of liquor that utterly disgusted him. He preferred to have hot punch, or even milk, to anything tasting of liquor.  
  
The train bringing him back to the city of his private school left just after nightfall, and with the electric lights overhead reflecting from the windows, Charles was able to see a mirror image of himself, rather than what lay outside. He was a bit like his father, although his hair had more of a honey color, like his mothers. His eyes, however, were from his grandfather, so he was told. They were a dark molasses brown. Such age in those eyes for such a young man, it made him sick to look at himself.  
  
"Chagney, you are going to be a crazy old fool just like your father if you keep this up." He muttered to himself. 


	3. Chapter Three

Chapter Three  
  
The brick building looked much more intimidating than most other buildings that Allyriane had ever been in. She almost found herself trembling a little bit as her father led her up the steps to the large oak doors of the private school. He had assured her twenty times already that the inside was far less intimidating, yet she wasn't so certain she ought to believe him this time.  
  
"Now, you can find the office on your own." Erik said gently, opening the door for her to step inside. "I think you can do this by yourself, can't you? No more leading you around by the hand, young lady."  
  
She blushed softly at his gentle teasing. He was trying his best to make this as easy on her as possible. Turning, she hugged him tightly, the last semblance of her girlhood showing through in that brief moment. She took in the scent of his clothing, and the musk that always hung around him from the simple smell of his skin. It had always been as equally comforting a thing as the sound of his voice. Holding the door open with one arm, he hugged her securely with the other, and kissed the top of her head. The bun she had her hair in made it difficult to kiss her without getting his lip stuck by a pin, yet he managed.  
  
"Here, I want you to call a cab to bring you home when classes end." He said, fishing out a few dollar bills. "Don't stop anywhere, Cherie, and please don't dawdle long here if you meet anyone new."  
  
"I'll come straight home, Papa." She promised. "When will you be home from work?"  
  
"Oh, no earlier than five or six." He thought. "No later than nine."  
  
"Nine?" She gasped. "Papa!"  
  
"Please, don't lecture me." He pleaded in mock horror. "It's my first day in the new business you know. There may be a great deal of work to take care of. I already know a few of the instructions I sent ahead with Seymour haven't been followed properly."  
  
Sighing, she shook her head, and turned to walk into the school. Her hair was pinned up severely so that no stray locks fell along her cheek as they usually did. It was school regulation that all the ladies tress properly. Thus said, she wore a very severely modest dress of purple, with tight long sleeves, and a relatively high collar that reached nearly halfway up her throat. Black lace decorated the bodice, cuff, and hemline, yet nothing had been said forbidding decoration.  
  
"Try not to insult anyone with inferior intelligence. It isn't their fault." Erik called from behind her suddenly, chuckling. His daughter may not have been a genius like he was; yet she was remarkably bright for her age. She had already taken several language arts classes, and could speak both English and German fluently.  
  
As the oak door all but slammed shut behind her, Allyriane started, and glanced over her shoulder. The door blocked out the sight of her father as he stood anxiously just outside, wondering if it had been a mistake to send her in there by herself. Yet just as she turned to continue down the hallway, he made up his mind to square his shoulder, and go to the office where his new employees were awaiting his arrival.  
  
The halls were as high and foreboding as the outside of the building had seemed. Yet it was not so frightening. The colors of the cherry- stained columns and beams that decorated or supported the building made the place seem at least a bit cheerier. There were very nice little gold and crystal chandeliers lighting the way down to the office, which could be found at the very end of the hallway she stood in. At least that was what she believed.  
  
The bell to signify a changing in classes chimed just as she reached the halfway point of the hall. Not only did the shrill ringing temporarily frighten her, but the twenty or so doors in the singular hallway all opened at once, and she was mobbed and pushed by young men and women alike hurrying from one class to the other. A few small groups formed of people who were obviously friends and dawdled momentarily. Yet that seemed to be it. Stunned and feeling like a frightened deer, she stood perfectly still while people went by her, watching the brief glances that some gave her.  
  
"Excuse me, Miss, are you all right?"  
  
She looked up, and was so stunned she momentarily forgot her English. The young man in front of her was at least five-foot-eleven. That was very tall for most adults that day in age. He had goldenrod hair that was grown past his shoulders, but pulled back and held in place by a black velvet ribbon. He watched her with liquid brown eyes that seemed deeper than the abyss. The fact that he looked rather charming and handsome didn't help her feel any more bold.  
  
"Excusez-moi?" She asked quietly, still forgetting momentarily that she was in America, and that she ought to be speaking English. The young mans' eyes widened, but he then chuckled softly.  
  
"Êtes-vous bon, Mademoiselle?" He repeated, this time speaking to her in faultless French. With a gasp, Allyriane stared up at him briefly, finally smiling. It seemed this man was either French, or he'd been tutored for many years in the language. It seemed the former was true, by his physique alone.  
  
"Monsieur! Vous parlez français!"  
  
"Oui." He replied with a nod. "Parlez-vous anglais?"  
  
Remembering herself, Allyriane quickly cleared her throat, smoothing out her skirts nervously. By now, the hallway seemed rather empty, except for the two of them. Only a few students remained speaking in the hallways. The rest had hurried onward to their next class.  
  
"Yes, Monsieur, I speak English." She finally managed. Slowly, she held out her hand. "My name is Allyriane Génie. My family only recently moved to Boston from Paris."  
  
"I am Charles de Changey." He replied simply. "I've lived in New York for most of my life, but I was born in France." Taking her offered hand, he bowed as she'd often seen her father do, in the older tradition, and lightly kissed her hand. "I am quite charmed to meet you. Now . . . is there any way I might assist you?"  
  
"Oh, no Monsieur. Thank you." She said quickly, blushing. "I was simply going to the office. I need to collect my schedule."  
  
"You'll need to know which hallway you're in, then." He told her lightly. "This is not the main hallway." Offering her his arm, he then began walking towards an intersection between two hallways. When he turned, she saw they were in a corridor at least three times the length of the other one. "This is the hallway, Mlle Génie, and the office is down there. I have the next two periods free. If you do not have a class to attend, I'd be happy to help you get to know the layout of the building."  
  
"Thank you very much, Monsieur de Chagney." She replied quietly. "My father told me, though, that my schedule would be quite busy. He took it upon himself to assign my classes. Perhaps on another day when I do not have so much to do . . ."  
  
"Whenever you are ready, of course." He assured her. They arrived at a large door with a large frosted window. "Bienvenue vers Boston."  
  
She nodded to him politely as he bowed a second time. Then, she turned and moved into the office, thinking that at least her first encounter with a young man had not been a total disaster. She went through all of the necessary humdrum until she was at last out of the office, her schedule in hand, as well as a map of the school. Yet she was surprised to see Monsieur de Chagney still there by the door, leaning against a wall, his arms about a small pile of textbooks, holding them against his chest as he watched her.  
  
"I will start classes the next period." She told him as he came towards her. She was rather touched that he'd waited. "I need to be in the music room."  
  
"Mon Dieu, that's all the way upstairs." He chuckled. "Come on, I'll show you where it is. I'll introduce you to Professor Austerlitz. He's the music instructor. He can be very hard, but he's very fair."  
  
"I take it you've been in his class before." Allyriane took his offered arm, and they were already by the stairs leading to the second and third floor of the building. Charles only shrugged nonchalantly, as though it meant nothing to him.  
  
"Oh, I failed his music theory class last semester."  
  
She laughed, covered her mouth quickly with a gloved hand.  
  
"I take it music is not your forte."  
  
"Charles! Oh! Charles!"  
  
They both turned at the sound of an anxious voice, and saw a young lady with brilliant blonde hair come running towards them, her emerald green eyes sparkling. She was wearing a fine red dress of silk, and small baby roses decorated her hair. As she came near and saw the strange young lady on Charles' arm, her eyes narrowed maliciously.  
  
"Who is your little friend, Charles? Aren't you going to introduce me?"  
  
Charles looked obviously annoyed at the presence of the young woman. Rolling his eyes, he gave Allyriane an apologetic look. Yet he was utterly polite.  
  
"I hadn't thought to, Elan." He admitted graciously. "Forgive me. Elan Pantaleoni, this is Mademoiselle Allyriane Génie. I am showing her around the school, as she is only starting her classes today."  
  
"Oh!" Elan seemed a bit satisfied with his explanation, and then seemed to forget Allyriane's presence altogether. Reaching up with black- gloved hands, she touched Charles' free arm quickly. "Oh, Charles! You are going to come to my birthday party on Thursday evening, aren't you? My father said he looks forward to seeing you there!"  
  
"You know the rules, Elan." He said stiffly. "If we live here, we stay here. I can't be out past nine o'clock, and your father would keep me up till midnight. I'm sorry but I will have to miss your party. Now please, there is only a short time left before the bell rings, and I must bring Mademoiselle to her next class."  
  
Turning, he offered Allyriane his arm, and she took it with a quiet, grateful smile. She didn't notice Elan as she scowled at their backs. They moved up the stairs to the next floor, and down two more hallways. She was quite certain she was going to become lost in the maze of hallways, and never find her way out. When she told Charles this, he laughed aloud and promised that if such happened, he'd come and find her. Then, the bell rang and he stopped in front of one of the doors, which remained closed. Apparently there had been no class inside.  
  
"Here you are, Mademoiselle." He said gallantly. "I'm afraid I must hurry to my physics class, though. Please accept my apologies for not introducing you to the Professor myself."  
  
"I will see you another time, perhaps." She told him, and he nodded, bowing before hurrying off without a backwards glance. Allyriane watched him until he went around the nearest corner, and then turned to step into the music room.  
  
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Her father stopped playing his little composition in mid-phrase. It was nearly nine o'clock, and they were all gathered together in the parlor, talking about Allyriane's first day of classes, and all of the work that Erik had done at his office. Yet when she mentioned the young man who had been so chivalrous to her, he seemed to go pale. Isabelle gave a little peep of surprise, and then quickly averted her eyes.  
  
"Did you say de Chagney?" Her father slowly demanded, turning to stare at her in astonishment. "As in . . . Charles Christian de Changey?" 


	4. Chapter Four

Chapter Four  
  
"Bonjour, Monsieur de Chagney. Comment allez-vous?" Allyriane stepped up behind the tall young man whom she recognized from the day before, smiling brightly to see him waiting for her at the front doors to the school. He smiled at her politely, bowing formally as though it were a subconscious act.  
  
"Je suis très bien, merci tellement, Mademoiselle Gènie." He replied. As they moved inside, it was impossible to miss the jealous or curious glances that several other students crowding the halls sent their way. Not wishing to be rude by speaking another language in front of the other students, Charles switched to speaking English. He wouldn't wish for someone to think he was speaking about them behind their back. "And how are you this fine morning, Mlle?"  
  
"Oh, I'm very well." She replied with a charming smile. Today she was wearing a dark blue dress of soft velour, with white lace that made the sleeves seem medieval and graceful. The collar was a bit less severe than the evening before, and he had a little peek at the white flesh of her throat for the first time. "I spoke about you to my father and mother last night, telling them how kind you were to me. He sounded very startled to hear the name Chagney."  
  
"Did he?" Charles asked, politely curious. "I don't see why he would know it. My father keeps mostly to himself, and my mother died when I was four."  
  
"Yes, but we are both from France." She said quickly. "My father confided in me that your father was a patron of the Paris Opera House when he used to perform there. They met through your mother!"  
  
Charles stopped walking and turned to stare down at her. This young woman's father had known his mother? Even he could hardly remember her sweet face. He wouldn't remember anything about her if it weren't for his fathers' behavior. Seeing the mild excitement in her eyes, he forced a smile and tried to make it look sincere.  
  
"Through my mother?" He echoed softly, and she nodded with a bit more excitement.  
  
"Yes! Papa says that your mother was the Prima Donna there, before she gave birth to you! He was the Principal Tenor, for a short term, at her side!"  
  
Charles lowered his gaze from her excited eyes, and slowly stared around the hallway. Other students were still watching them from all different directions. One of the most prominent faces in the crowd that glanced their way belonged to Elan. Her emerald green eyes flashed with jealousy as she watched the two of them speaking together; It was no real secret that Elan had been trying to catch his eye for a few years now. Yet her nose had been far too lofty for his tastes. Although he liked to see women with spirit, she had far too much fire in her that burned out of control.  
  
"I . . . my father never speaks of my mother." He finally told Allyriane softly, looking back down into her face. "I knew that she had been given singing lessons before I was born, and that she was very accomplished in that field. Yet I had no idea she'd had a career."  
  
"She had a fine career, my father told me." She said brightly. "Isn't this funny, Charles? Meeting up in Boston without knowing the other existed, when all the while our families were once rather close friends?"  
  
"Yes." He agreed dully. He waited a moment, and then finally managed to shake himself out of his stupor. He gave Allyriane his arm, and started shuffling through the crowded hallways with her. "Where is your first class this morning?"  
  
"I have music again." She said. "It seems my father packed my schedule with music classes. Every free moment I have from academics is filled with music lessons of some sort. I have three today; piano, vocal, and theory. Those are all in the morning. Then, after lunch, I have history, mathematics, and literature."  
  
"You'll be quite a refined woman when you graduate, Mademoiselle." He chuckled. "As for lunch, I was wondering if you would join me today. There is a small café just down the street where the students here are allowed to dine. Would you join me, and a small group of my friends, for lunch? I'd be happy to introduce you to them."  
  
Allyriane thought about that for a long moment. Her father had told her not to leave the building during the day, unless she were to cross the street and buy something from the food vendor who seemed to constantly be stationed there. She could get a fine and healthy little meal there. Yet would her father object to her leaving the building if she attended with other students?  
  
"I'd be delighted to join you for lunch." She finally decided. "That is, if you would be good enough to join my family and I for supper tomorrow evening?"  
  
As they walked down the hallway, Elan and her small group of coquettish friends stared after them. The emerald eyes of the leader flashed angrily, and she tossed her curled hair flippantly.  
  
"Just who does that little tomtit think she is?" Elan demanded icily. "How dare she waltz in here and simply pick up the most eligible man we have." The other girls laughed maliciously. "Look at how she dresses, for Heavens' sake!"  
  
"Oh, Elan, you know he'll come around." One of her little friends chattered. "Charles has more taste than to actually pursue a little mouse like that!"  
  
Elan lifted her chin haughtily, and turned to storm off to her closest class. One of her friends watched her walk off curiously, then glanced back down the hallway towards Charles. How odd, she was thinking to herself, that Elan would insult the very same style dress that she herself was wearing.  
  
//////////////////////////////---------------- //////////////////////////////  
  
Erik was a little anxious as he sat down for the first time that day, a newspaper folded under his arm. That night, Charles de Chagney would be in their little home for supper. Allyriane seemed rather excited about the idea - too excited really, considering she'd only met the young man three days ago. Perhaps the handsome face De Chagney had undoubtedly passed on to his son made her swoon, as it had many girls. Then again, perhaps she simply knew deep down that she already loved him, just as Erik had so quickly fallen in love with his mother. Erik's breath caught in his throat every time he remembered that day, almost twenty years ago.  
  
When Allyriane had told him that Charles had been very surprised to hear about his mothers' past, Erik was rather startled. It wasn't so much that his father had kept the secret from his family that his deceased wife had once been an opera singer. He had simply thought that Raoul would better deal with the grief of losing Christine. It was possible, however, that in their final years together, which Erik had not witnessed, they had become closer than ever before. Perhaps without Erik 'in the way' their love had been able to flourish as love was meant to.  
  
Looking back on that last year of Christine's life, Erik was still amazed he hadn't realized something was wrong. The family had already moved to New York, yet they kept in constant contact with one another. Letters, telegraphs, cards, and gifts were constantly being sent across the ocean. Then, abruptly, the letters simply stopped: the cards for Christmas and New Years, and birthdays, stopped coming in, although Erik and his family still sent letters out to them. Had he not been so buried in his new career, he would have realized something was wrong. He would have written to Raoul and Christine, and demanded to know why they had stopped writing.  
  
Then the letter had finally come, the very last letter ever to be sent by the hand of Raoul de Chagney. Erik could remember it's exact content.  
  
'Madame and Monsieur Gènie,  
  
Forgive me for not writing sooner. I've tried to, yet my tears have been too many whenever I made the attempt. I have a daughter now, who on Christine asked me to name Katherine on the day of her birth. Unfortunately, my wife was already ill, as she had been all through the pregnancy. She gained an infection within hours after the birth, and she has since died.  
  
I know that Erik and Christine would good friends, and I offer you my condolences, as I accept those I am sure you are sending me with your hearts. You have always been good people to my family, and I thank you. Yet remembrances of Christine are too much for me to bare. Please do not write me for a while.  
  
Your Devoted Friend, Comte Raoul de Chagney'  
  
Erik remembered the overwhelming grief he had felt that day. He hadn't even acknowledged that Raoul had the higher rank of Comte. If he had only known she were ill, perhaps there would have been a chance to save her. He could have gone to New York, and saved her with his knowledge in medicines. No doctor in the world knew as much about the body as he did. He might have saved her. For thirteen years, he had been blaming himself partly for Christine's death. Isabelle had wept with him after reading the letter, as had their friend Madeline, and her children. The man who had become Madeline's husband in the four years since Allyriane's birth had been confused, as he had never met the de Chagney's, yet he felt deep sympathy for the loss they had all endured.  
  
Erik had suffered the most, from the guilt and the sorrow. It had affected him physically, and although he retained all the strengths that had made him the Phantom years before, he had never been quite the same. His steps had been a touch heavier, despite how he tried to control them. For months, he could not bare to hear music of any sort, as it would remind him of the gentle soul that had been taken to Heaven.  
  
"Papa?"  
  
Opening his eyes, the newspaper laid across his lap, Erik looked up at his daughter in the dimming light of the parlor. Even as the sun, set behind their apartment building, he could see the brilliant shade of yellow of the dress she'd decided to wear for supper. Her hair was pulled back in a tidy yet loose braid, and the design of the dress showed off the length of her throat, and the curve of her bare shoulders. About her throat she wore a sapphire pendant he'd given her on her sixteenth birthday. Groaning, he sat up.  
  
"No, Lyre, I don't think so." He said quickly, motioning to her dress. "If you don't pick up those sleeves, you'll have grooves in your arms for the next month. Now kindly pick them up and put them ON your shoulders, where they belong!"  
  
She blushed, and then pouted as she did what he ordered. She wasn't fool enough to try and argue with him about this. Yet the way she had come out of her room, Erik knew that indeed, she must like this young man coming to dinner very much, if she wished to tease and flirt with him in such a dress.  
  
"He isn't here to chase a skirt, Lyre. He's here to meet the man who can tell him about his mother."  
  
She giggled, and then hurried into the kitchen to help her mother cook the evening meal. The fine china and crystal that had belonged to her grandmother was set on the modestly sized table in their tiny dining room. Everything smelled so delicious, yet Allyriane knew her mother couldn't possible carry things to and from the kitchen with the light cast on her arm.  
  
Erik shook his head slowly, and then turned to throw the newspaper down into his chair, so that he could read it later on. Just at that moment, there was a knock on the door. The sound of it, although polite and soft, made Erik's heart jump into his throat, and then stall. It choked off his air supply, even as he moved to answer it. He knew what to expect on the other side of the door.  
  
"Monsieur Gènie?"  
  
He had been right. Charles de Chagney was a very close replica of the Comte. His hair was the same honey-goldenrod as Christine's had been. His eyes were a brown that Erik had never even known existed. They were somewhat like his own, although Erik's eyes were more orange. They could say the same thing about both of their eyes, however - sap. Charles' eyes looked more like the liquid sap of trees, while Erik's was the later, harder form of amber. The cut of his face was Raoul's, undeniably recognizable to Erik who had memorized the face of his one-time enemy so many years ago. His build, however hidden by his clothes, Erik could recognize as softer and a tiny bit more feminine. His mothers bone structure had been passed onto this young man. Only Erik could tell with the man fully dressed in front of him.  
  
"I am Erik Gènie." He finally murmured, catching his breath, and backing out of the doorway once Charles' gaze became confused. He looked the man over, and saw he had a bottle of champagne under his arm, and held three roses in his hand - two red ones, and one white. His gloved digits reached out to be polite, and Erik quickly shook his offered hand. "You . . . you must be Charles."  
  
"Yes Sir." He replied with a smile, relieved to know he was at the correct apartment. Glancing down, he quickly picked the bottle of bubbly out from under his arm. "This is for tonight, Sir. I hope you don't mind that I had my father send me some. I don't like the stuff myself, but I thought perhaps . . ."  
  
"How very considerate of you." Erik replied simply, taking the bottle and letting him into the apartment, and leading him towards the kitchen. "How is it your father managed to send you a bottle of champagne with only a days notice?"  
  
"The telephone, of course." Charles chuckled. "My father invested some money in one of those crazy machines. Works remarkably well. Luckily our school has one as well. I was allowed to phone him last night, and ask him to send some on the night train."  
  
"I see." Erik didn't make any sign that he'd heard of the telephone, although a man of his . . . wisdom . . . knew more than only a little about the telephone. Who didn't know about it, this day in age? Even if it wasn't remarkably common for people to have them, everyone knew that they existed.  
  
Leading Charles to the kitchen, he poked his head through the door to see if his wife and daughter looked presentable. There was his daughter, right along side Isabelle, her dress once again off the shoulder. With a disapproving frown, he looked back towards his guest.  
  
"Pardon me for just one moment." He entreated, and then hurried into the kitchen, closing the door behind him. Walking up behind Allyriane, he grabbed her by the top of her sleeves, and yanked them back up into place. Allyriane gave a short squeal of surprise, and then turned to gape at him. He shook his head at her angrily, and her face became flushed.  
  
"I wasn't going to keep them down!" She protested to his silent accusation. "It's bloody hot in here, Papa!"  
  
Sighing, he shook his head, and waved away the subject.  
  
"Your friend Charles is here." He announced. "Come out and greet your guest." He looked up to Isabelle, who had turned at her daughters squeal, and offered her his arm. After quickly removing a flour and spice covered apron, she took his offer, and moved out into the parlor area with him. Both of the ladies stopped to look at the man with polite stares of admiration, and Isabelle's eyes widened a bit as she recognized the face just as easily as Erik had.  
  
"Mademoiselle Allyriane . . ." Charles stared at Isabelle in open admiration before mentally reminding himself of his manners. Bowing quickly, he offered her the two red roses he held in one hand. "You look lovely, as usual."  
  
"Monsieur Charles, you are too kind." She replied in her most charming voice. Erik could not help but roll his eyes. Their words sounded just as sarcastic as they did polite. Perhaps his daughter was only teasing him for his old-fashioned demeanor. She had no reason to. She had been raised with the same mannerisms and beliefs.  
  
"This is my wife, Isabelle." He finally said, interrupting the eye contact the two adolescents had kept with one another. Turning quickly, Charles bowed to Isabelle as well, offering her the white rose he had left in his hand. She took the rose with a gracious smile, and turned to take it into the kitchen.  
  
"Oh, how lovely. Lyre, why don't we bring these into the kitchen and put them in some water?" Her tone was obvious, and Allyriane followed reluctantly. Only when the two women were once again out of sight did Charles seem to come totally into reality once more.  
  
"Monsieur, I was given the impression that you could tell me about my mother . . ."  
  
Well, Erik found himself thinking. The young man certainly did know how to come right to the point. It was a skill his father had often lacked in the past, unless he was making himself look like an utter fool. The mention of Christine brought his thoughts back to the day he'd received the letter, and he looked down at his feet temporarily.  
  
"Later, Charles." He promised softly. "Perhaps after supper, we can talk of her. For now, let us enjoy an aperitif, and then we will enjoy the company of the beautiful ladies just in the other room."  
  
"If I am allowed to say, Monsieur, I agree that your family is quite stunning." Charles admitted quickly. "I can see where your daughter gained her beauty."  
  
Erik chuckled. The lad was trying his hardest to be polite. Perhaps this evening would not be so dreadful after all. Talking about Christine to this lad would be hard. Asking about his little sister may prove even harder. Yet on the whole, this evening could prove quite enjoyable. The young man was obviously brighter than his father had been at that age, and much more sensible. He was also far less self-centered, which Erik found he enjoyed a great deal. They wouldn't need to have a battle of vanity or possession. 


	5. Chapter Five

Chapter Five  
  
'My dearest little sister,  
  
You will never believe what I have recently discovered. Only a few days ago I met a remarkable young woman in my school. She comes from our very soil in Paris, and you shall never believe this! Her parents were acquainted with our mother and father! I had supper with this young lady's family last night, and the entire story of our mother, which our father has kept from us, has been unveiled! Her entire past, the wonderful and tragic!  
  
Shall I tell you of our mother, beloved Kat?  
  
Our mother was born Christine Daaé, the daughter of a relatively poor and yet astoundingly well-known violinist. She met our father when they were each around your age, and were childhood sweethearts. Circumstance separated them, and she continued life with her father until he past away. She was then schooled at a conservatoire (Her musical education having begun under the tutelage of our grandfather, her father), and from thence she became a chorus member of the very Paris Opera itself! Monsieur Erik Gènie, the man whom has shared this story with me, said that while she lived there, she was the center of some scandal during which she became reacquainted with our father. He told me to ask him about it, if I dared, but that he would not repeat the story to me, as it would be unfair to disgrace her with such gossip. She overcame this scandal, of course, and married our father. I was born shortly before she quit her career in Paris, and he said that had she remained on stage, she would be the greatest Prima Donna in the world today!  
  
Can you imagine it, dearest sister? Our mother a Prima Donna of the Garnier Paris Opera House! I see now where you get your beautiful gift of music. I've always wondered that, you know. You sing like a nightingale, and are quite good at the piano. It must be in the blood of our mothers' family. I wish I had such a talent, yet I have no ear for it.  
  
I know that when I return home, you shall have all sorts of questions about the young lady whose family I have met. Rest assured, sister, that assuming this friendship between the two of us continues, you shall meet her when the semester has ended. Perhaps father will allow me to invite her entire family to stay with us for a week or so.  
  
I had never thought such a pretty face could exist, Katherine. At least, I had not imagined that such a pretty face could possess such charm and wisdom. Her father has tutored her very well. She is a virtuoso at the piano. When I attended supper with them, she played the very same piece you have been working on for so long, the 'Appasionata'. She really is quite charming. I hope she is equally interested in me.  
  
You will adore this family, Katherine. I promise you. Please give father my love, and tell him to expect me home for a weekend within the month. I cannot use the telephone here often, as it must usually be used for business only. I look forward to seeing you in person again.  
  
Your Loving Brother, Charles'  
  
  
  
"Is that so?" Katherine grinned as she folded the bit of paper, and leaned back against her sofa. Looking up towards her fathers' intense gaze, she blushed softly, realizing she'd spoken aloud. He stood by the fireplace, holding a glass of cognac in one hand. "Father, it seems our Charles has found a young lady that has taken his fancy - at last!"  
  
Raoul looked at her curiously. He'd been very calm today, and had not ranted or cried once. That was good. Katherine always loved spending time with him as long as he was calm.  
  
"Has he?" He replied softly, definitely interested, yet not overly excited. They'd thought Charles had finally found himself a young lady before, and had been disappointed. "Does he confide in you the lady's name?"  
  
"He says her fathers' name." Katherine replied quietly. "Perhaps you know him. The letter says that by chance you and Mama knew his family back in Paris. Erik Génie."  
  
"Génie?" He repeated dumbly, staring at her for a moment, recognizing the name but not the circumstances. Too much time had passed. In his misery, he could not recall the past with ease. Slowly, he plucked through his memories. Then, two men with the name Erik came to mind. Then, there were two pairs of eyes that came to his inner eye. Two eyes remarkably the same. Almost exactly the same, even. His hand tightened around the tumbler in his hand briefly, dismissing the idea that the man in question was the Phantom. "Oh . . . Christine's friend . . ." He finally whispered. "The tenor . . ."  
  
Shrugging, he moved to seat himself in a large plush chair by the fireplace. Katherine watched him curiously, having been certain that her father might show more emotion at the mention of their mother. Yet for a change, there was nothing. He simply stared out into space as he became lost in his thoughts - in his memories.  
  
"Father, why didn't you tell us about Mama?"  
  
He didn't reply. She doubted he could even hear her.  
  
Sighing, Katherine stood and walked out of the parlor, headed for her music room to search through her mothers' old vocal exercises.  
  
//////////////////////-------------------------- //////////////////////////////////  
  
A/N - I'm reading "The Phantom of Manhattan". Hmm . . . Disturbing in several places thus far, but still an all right read, I suppose. Certainly not Susan Kay's masterpiece. I'm only on Chapter 12. 


	6. Chapter Six

Chapter Six  
  
Three months passed, and spring came to Boston. Buds sprouted on the trees, and a few leaves dotted the branches lining the streets. The birds were returning from the south, and the animals in hibernation started causing the usual mischievous trouble along the outskirts of the city when the came out at night to raid trash cans, or simply see what had changed over the season. Charles and Allyriane continued to keep company with one another, and he was a regular dinner guest in their home. For the most part, their little romance went unnoticed by the school they attended. Certainly everyone knew that they were friends, and that their parents were close. Yet that was all that they knew about the couple.  
  
Elan did not even know how deep the relationship went; although she kept a constant and jealous eye on them ever time they walked arm-in-arm down the hallways of the school. Charles' roommate, William Sanchez, was the son of a very prominent bank owner in Boston, and his parents were very close friends of Elan's. They had known one another since they were children, and as she grew into the coquette she now was, their relationship behind their friendship often had a few secretive benefits. She had never been a bedfellow of his, however, despite how much she knew he must want her. She enjoyed teasing him much more; heating him up and then dropping him cold. It was a very helpful game when she needed something done for her. He wasn't the only young man she played that game with, even though she wasn't seriously attached to a single one of them.  
  
"Elan, you are aware that the lunch bell just rang, aren't you?"  
  
Turning from the scene of Charles making his way out of the building with Allyriane and a group of their friends, she smiled up at William softly. He was dressed smartly in blue crushed velvet, and hat his ebony hair growing in long, slightly curled strands that he had drawn back by a ribbon, as most of the young men in the school did. Short hair had recently become a fashion in the state, yet few of the young men in their school had picked up on it yet. Fluttering her lashes at her long time friend, she reached up to touch his shoulder.  
  
"Billy!" She greeted the rather plain looking gentleman. He was not necessarily very handsome, but he certainly could never be considered ugly. Except for, just perhaps, the little strip of beard growing on the center of his chin. "Billy, where have you been all week? Studying for those ridiculous exams? I've been looking for you everywhere!"  
  
"I'm sorry, my dear. It's that pretty-boy Chagney. Whenever he's actually home a half hour before curfew, he keeps me up half the night talking about that ridiculous little Gènie girl. He goes to her house at least three times a week for supper. So every night he's back at the room, I have to listen to him talk about what she said or did, or what happened with her family the night before."  
  
His oak green eyes rolled in annoyance, and Elan found herself scowling.  
  
"Do you mean to say that he's still got gaga eyes for that simpering little contractors daughter?"  
  
"I'd watch how I was talking, if I were you, Elan." William replied hastily, in a low voice. He reached up to gently remove her hand from his shoulder. "Her father is getting pretty damn powerful. I've heard that even our President may be commissioning him to design a new vacation house for him. He's gaining a vast fortune in a very short amount of time."  
  
"Oh, I hate her!" Elan spat. "She's just a little gutter snipe, and she has no place in our school! She has no place making eyes at Charles!"  
  
William stared at her for a long moment. He knew that his friend wanted his roommate all to herself. Charles was the only man she really had ever passionately wanted, and he had no doubt it was because Charles de Chagney was the only man who had ever refused her. He knew she could be a malicious little snake, as dangerous as a cobra. William had spied for her more than once when it came to Charles' affairs.  
  
"Oh, Billy . . . I wish there were a way to take care of her." Elan said softly. She put her hand back on his shoulder, and then traced it slowly up the side of his neck. Used to her teasing, William wasn't nervous about her attention to him. Yet he was nervous that a teacher might see this, and expel them both. He couldn't very well be sent back to Connecticut if he was expelled. His father would damn near disown him. He simply stood there, outwardly unmoved as Elan started moving dangerously close to him.  
  
"I'm afraid there isn't." He finally replied.  
  
"Oh, but there could be!" She exclaimed in a soft whisper. This was really getting to be too much. Elan was his friend, and they always teased one another, and had shared a few fondling sessions in the shadowed hallways of parties. Yet she was one of the most beautiful ladies in the whole school. It was difficult not to remain completely unaffected by her catlike rubbing. "You could help me, Billy. You'll help me, won't you, my friend?"  
  
"Elan, I always have. Haven't I?" He challenged gently in return. "I'm not doing this job for free, though. I've done enough for you for free. What payment do I get?"  
  
"Hmmm . . ." She traced a finger along his jaw teasingly. He couldn't believe that this woman was still actually a virgin, the way she behaved. "How about; the very thing you've always wanted from me?"  
  
William dropped the books he'd been holding to his chest to keep them at least slightly separated from one another. The sound of the heavy books hitting the floor echoed through the halls, and he looked about nervously to make sure no one was watching them. Looking back to Elan, he swallowed thickly.  
  
"What do you want me to do?"  
  
///////////////////////////---------------------- //////////////////////////////////////  
  
"Masquerade?" Allyriane asked quietly as she sipped at her afternoon tea with the ladies from her choir lessons. "What Masquerade? This is the first I've heard of it. I've never been to one before, although they really were quite popular back in Paris."  
  
"It's an end of the year celebration." Susan Rameka, an alto of the women's choir, said softly. "Obviously you know what a masquerade is. Well, that is all this party is, a masquerade for the students. It doesn't happen at the end of the year simply because the professors want a chance to actually reprimand anyone who behaves with misconduct!"  
  
Every lady around her laughed, and Allyriane had to keep from rolling her eyes. There was nothing wrong with giggling and being silly. Yet some of these girls seemed so flighty and so gossipy. It was ridiculous, really. Still, these young ladies were her friends. She would never think ill of them simply because their personalities could be a bit dim from time to time.  
  
"Michael Czar, my beau, and I, are going as Romeo and Juliet." Susan continued. "I've heard that Elan Pantaleoni plans to go as the goddess Athena, and that William Sanchez is going with her - as Narcissus!"  
  
Everyone squealed with laughter at that. To imagine William going as the god of vanity was hilarious. Not a single woman in the school thought him particularly attractive. Certainly he wasn't an Adonis, as Narcissus was supposed to be from the books they read. Then, all eyes slowly turned to Allyriane.  
  
"Who do you think you're going to be?" Marie asked softly, brown eyes batting lightly. "I think you'd make a very pretty Ophelia!"  
  
"Ophelia?" Allyriane grimaced. "No . . . my father always tells me I would have made the perfect Aminta. That's a character from an Opera he wrote when he was younger. I've never seen the manuscript, but he told me that I looked like the character."  
  
"Oh?" Susan piped up eagerly. "Who do you think you'll go to the masquerade with? What will he dress up as?"  
  
"He'll dress up in whatever costume he wishes." She replied. "I think it is very cute how other couples find costumes that compliment one another. Yet I think Charles has a mind of his own."  
  
"Charles?" Everyone around her exclaimed, and thus the cat was formally out of the bag. "Do you mean Charles de Chagney, the French Vicomte? You are so lucky! He's the best-looking man we have in the entire school!"  
  
Allyriane blushed, glancing down at her hands as she settled them onto the white pleated skirt of her lap. Charles and she had not been trying to keep their romance a secret. They simply found no reason to shout it from the rooftops that they were courting one another. Only her parents, Charles' father and sister, and Charles' roommate, William, had known that they were seeing one another with romance in mind.  
  
"Well, thank you." She finally murmured a bit embarrassedly. "I'm sure that he'd thank you too for such a compliment."  
  
Inwardly, she was wondering how she could convince Charles to take her to the masquerade. Also, she was wondering how she could tackle the harder task of convincing her father to let her attend!  
  
/////////////////////----------------- //////////////////////////////////////  
  
"You do realize that if we get caught, we'll be thrown in jail. Don't you?"  
  
"We? Who said anything about we? I'm not the one that's going to give the little brat what she deserves." Elan tossed her hair flippantly as they sat in her sitting room, having evening tea at her home. "All you have to do is get her into an unguarded corner. How hard can that be? Drag her up to your room if you have to!"  
  
"Elan, I never thought you could be so nasty."  
  
"If you don't want to help me, Billy, I'll find a man that will do it without half so much as you want from me in return!"  
  
"Now, I didn't say that I wasn't going to do it! Calm down, Elan!"  
  
"How long until you find out for certain what Charles is going to be at the masquerade?"  
  
"Two weeks or so."  
  
"You'd better find out sooner than that. We need time to get you the same costume if this is going to work!"  
  
"Don't worry. I'll get it soon enough. He never shuts up about what they're going to do together in the future. He'll let his costume plan slip through his lips without even knowing it." 


	7. Chapter Seven

Chapter Seven  
  
"That would work!" Charles agreed with Erik enthusiastically as he joined them for the usual supper the Friday evening of that weekend. Although he had promised his sister to be home that weekend, he planned on leaving on the early train Saturday morning. He might have a shorter time with his real family, but at least that also meant less time arguing with his father before he left Sunday night. He simply did not like missing his dinner engagements with Allyriane and her family. "Monsieur Erik, that is an absolutely charming idea."  
  
Allyriane smiled at them from her place at the table, holding a crystal wine glass filled with hot punch near her lips. When she took a sip, Charles' eyes were temporarily stuck on her face. He watched it as her upper lip curled over the brim of the cup, and as her head tilted down a bit. He watched her eyes close so that she could enjoy the taste of the punch, and then he watched the movement of her throat as she swallowed. She opened her eyes to look back up at him, and he laughed inwardly, narrowing his eyes just slightly to scold her for flirting with him like that, so shamelessly.  
  
"Don't think it's a sudden and original idea." Isabelle said softly from her place across from her daughter. She laughed softly as she looked over at Charles. "My husband dressed as the Commendatore for a Masquerade Ball at the Paris Opera when Lyre was only a year old. He still has the costume buried in our wardrobe somewhere. It was so unique we just couldn't part with it. My guess would be that he is going to offer it to you next."  
  
Charles looked up at Erik, who had been watching the silent exchanges between his daughter and her beau very intently all night. He had his moods where he could be nearly jealous of his daughters' affections for any other gentleman. Yet of course it was only the possessive jealousy of all fathers, as they realize their dreams of keeping their daughters little girls forever are quite hopeless. Yet he was smiling, no matter how intently he watched the young couple.  
  
"My wife would be right." He replied. "There isn't a costume like it in the entire world. The shop I got it from burned down long ago. My wife also has one of their costumes. Eh . . ." He looked to Isabelle questioningly. "What did you dress up as, that year, Cherie? Was it a peahen? With all gold and blue and green? With the head mask?"  
  
"Oui." She replied, nodding slowly. "It was that same year the place burned down too. Such a pity, because it had only recently opened, and everyone wanted their costumes."  
  
They continued eating, and talking over the masquerade that Charles had been given attended to escort Allyriane to. Then, when the final course was served, Erik stood to go and find a brandy in the parlor. He'd taken a liking to the after-dinner habit from so many business dinners in Paris, and now here as well. Most of the time, when Charles wasn't at their house for supper, Erik had to work late dining with new clients.  
  
"Come, my boy. I'll show you the costume I'm talking about."  
  
Allyriane touched Charles' wrist briefly as he moved past her into the parlor, and then began helping her mother to clear the table, and went into the kitchen to continue helping her with the cleaning up. Although Isabelle's wrist was now free from its' cast, it would sometimes feel a little stiff and sore. The break had not been pretty, and Erik had mentioned several times how lucky she was that it had healed at all properly.  
  
"That is such a charming idea that your father came up with." Isabelle told her in a soft voice. "You will be Aminta, and Charles the Commendatore. 'Don Juan Triumphant' and 'Don Giovanni' under one roof." She smiled at her daughter quietly. "I still wish your father would let us hear that opera of his, for heavens' sake. Sometimes I think he made up the entire plot right off of the top of his head."  
  
"Sometimes I think he stole the whole plot from Mozart." She countered, giggling. "Think of it, Maman. Two men who have fun in seducing women only to drop them all flat, and then go on to the next conquest. You have to admit that does sound a bit too similar to be a completely original idea."  
  
"No idea is totally original anymore, Cherie." Isabelle scoffed. "There is no such thing."  
  
"Ladies . . ."  
  
They both turned at the same time to see Erik holding the kitchen door to the parlor open. He motioned for them to come out into the parlor, although he'd heard their little remarks about his opera. Shrugging, they dried off their hands, and followed him into the room that was lit only by oil lamps. Their father always did seem to prefer firelight to the newer electric lights.  
  
Charles stood in the center of the room in the costume of the stone statue from 'Don Giovanni'. He looked just like a living statue. He even had a mask rather like armor that went over his head. It concealed who he was entirely. No one in the entire place would recognize him. Allyriane almost squealed with delight. Charles may not have been as tall as her father, yet he certainly fit the costume well. The sleeves and such would need to be taken in, yet that would certainly be a very easy fix.  
  
"Papa! It's wonderful!" Turning, she grasped her mothers' hand. "Mama! Let me see your costume! Please? Just so I can try it on for fun!"  
  
Isabelle glanced at Erik uncertainly, and then looked at Charles even more keenly.  
  
"My dear, I am afraid that it is not . . . suited for young ladies of your age. It is a bit too adult."  
  
"Oh, then lets' see!" Charles prodded teasingly, pulling off the headpiece to the costume he wore. His face was flushed as though it were hot underneath what he'd been wearing. Moving over to him, Allyriane touched the material with her hands, and realized why it was so warm. It was pure velvet.  
  
"She can look at it when just the two of us are at home, some evening." Isabelle promised softly. "Now is not a good time. Really, Charles, a gentleman like you should not encourage a young lady to act so wild." She was smiling, though, just like everyone else. They were having such a wonderful little time, as they always did together.  
  
//////////////////////////////------------------ ///////////////////////////////////  
  
Charles looked up at his roommate from behind a pile of textbooks as he sat at his desk, his back to the open dormitory door of the room. William was leaning back on his bed, laughing so hard that he had to hold his sides as though he thought they might split.  
  
"What may I ask, is so damn funny?" Charles demanded.  
  
"Wait a minute!" Slowly gaining control over himself, William sat up in bed so that his feet touched the floor, and he leaned over his knees. "You are the most lusted after young man in this entire school, and you're going to wear a costume that covers your FACE?"  
  
It was more perfect than Elan could have hoped. To dress up in the same costume as Charles, to pose as him in the ballroom, was one thing. To have his face covered to better achieve his deceit to Allyriane was too good to be true! The only problem now would be replicating that costume, or getting a hold of the one Charles had without him coming after him for it.  
  
"Lyre's father recommended it to me." Charles stated. "She'll be in costume as a character from one of his own operas', and I will be the character from 'Don Giovanni'. Our costumes will go together well, even if no one else realizes it. Her father is even going to give me the costume. It's one of a kind."  
  
William sobered inwardly at that. So he'd have to make sure he could steal the costume from Charles, AND keep Charles out of the masquerade while he went through with the dirty little deeds Elan had planned for him to do. That might prove a little difficult. Yet William was capable of thinking on his feet. It had kept him out of trouble far more than once.  
  
"Well, it will certainly be a good enough symbolism for how you've been acting towards the young ladies in the school." He told Charles bluntly. "You can be as hard and as emotionless as stone behind that civility you're always bleeding."  
  
Charles shook his head in annoyance. William was a pretty decent fellow. Ye just kept with the wrong company too much. That was what had often gotten him into trouble. He'd go along with someone else's rotten ideas, and then almost get in trouble for it. Still, William didn't have any dangerous or mean bones in his body. If it weren't for the people he hung out with, he wouldn't even know how to have a biting tone like the one he'd just used.  
  
"What are your plans for that evening?" William encouraged after a few moments. "Are you going to walk in the courtyard with her? It's going to be chaperoned this year. Too many young couples snuck out of the party last year."  
  
"I have no intention of dishonoring Allyriane by dragging her into some seedy, shadowed corner." Charles nearly rose to his feet that William would suggest such a thing. William knew him better than that. They'd both been raised to be better than that. Yet Charles would forgive him. Considering they were both young and robust men, he supposed it would be hard not to at least consider such things.  
  
"Don't be so brash." William chuckled. "I was only asking."  
  
"Then don't ask." Charles said sourly. He looked back to his studies, studiously making it clear that the conversation was over. He was leaving for his family's home the following morning, and he wanted to get the weekends studies done before he went to sleep.  
  
Rolling over in bed, William grinned as he faced the wall. In all the nights that Charles had prattled on about Allyriane, William had learned that Charles was her first suitor. He also knew that Charles was very careful to be very respectful of her, as he never wished to insult her, or betray her parents. Mademoiselle Génie was still a virgin. How delightful to know he'd pluck two tender bleeding roses in one night. First he would have Allyriane, who was his conquest, and then his prize, Elan.  
  
/////////////////////---------------------//////////////////////////  
  
"Here. You're going to have to give this to her in some punch before I arrive. It needs time to get through her system." William handed Elan a small vial as they sat across from each other at their afternoon tea. "Be careful not to give her too much. Too much can be fatal."  
  
"You mean I can't pour the whole of the contents in?" Elan pouted. William grimaced.  
  
"You are so . . . demented." He muttered. "Don't even think about putting the whole vial in it! It was hard enough getting the morphine from my brother. I had to steal the laudanum. Besides, if we give it to her in a couple of smaller doses until it finally takes affect, then it will be safer for her. We aren't trying to kill her, Elan. Remember? We want her alive to remember what happened?"  
  
"Yes. Yes." Elan waved her hand dismissively, sounding quite bored. "What do you need the morphine for, anyway? You aren't an addict."  
  
"No." William agreed. "We'll both be expelled if either of us are caught with any of this, so be careful! I need the morphine to get Charles out of the way. His costume is one of a kind, and I need to wear his to the ballroom. If I just flat out take it, he'll come looking for it, or for her, and we won't achieve our little devious goal."  
  
Elan looked across the small table at him uncertainly.  
  
"The morphine won't hurt him, will it?"  
  
"Ah, now you care about what happens." He muttered. "No, Charles won't be hurt by the morphine. It's only going to knock him unconscious for a couple of hours, all right? I'll measure it out carefully."  
  
"How are you going to get him to take it?" She challenged.  
  
"I'll find out a way, Elan! Trust me, all right? I'm smarter than you give me credit for!"  
  
"If this doesn't work, and you get caught, William, you are entirely on your own."  
  
////////////////////////////-------------------//////////////////  
  
"Charles, aren't you going to get ready?"  
  
William stood in front of a mirror on the wall between their two beds. He was dressed smartly in all white, gold, and red, as the legendary Narcissus. He certainly managed to make himself look like a young Adonis for this evening, although he hadn't changed a single thing about his own personal looks. Charles' glanced up from his studies, and sighed heavily as he realized the time.  
  
"Tell Lyre for me, that I'll be down in a half hour. She should be there soon." He told William. "I need to finish this chapter."  
  
"Always studying." William murmured, moving behind Charles and opening the door to their dorm as though to leave. Yet after stepping outside, he left the door open - per Charles' request. It was so hot in the room; they needed to let some air in. Then, he crept back into the room, and reached into his coat pocket for the needle he had already carefully prepared. He checked it one last time, making as little noise as possible, and then moved up behind Charles.  
  
He was leaned over his books, and his shoulders were so stooped, that there were more than enough places he could have rammed the needle. Yet he had to be careful, or else he would be seen before Charles became unconscious. So, he moved up fast behind him, and reached out to knock over the single oil lamp the young scholar worked by, listening as it smashed on the floor, and all light was extinguished in the room. It was already dark outside, so William knew Charles couldn't recognize him as he turned, the small of his back being shoved down against the edge of the desk. Then, the needle stuck home in Charles' side. For a few moments longer, they struggled. Yet soon the drug started taking affect, and Charles dropped to the floor.  
  
"Stupid bastard." William chuckled. The fight had made his blood pump faster, and therefore the drug had gone through his system faster. It had worked out much better than William could have hoped. Turning, he reached into Charles' closet, and pulled out the costume he'd been keeping there for the past three days, and threw it on over his other costume.  
  
/////////////////////////--------------------------- /////////////////////////////  
  
"Lyre! Oh, I can't believe it! You look beautiful!"  
  
Susan Rameka hurried up to Allyriane as she came into the ballroom dressed in a copper colored dress of satin, with black laces. It was a bit scandalously short, as it only went down to her ankles, but for a masquerade nearly anything was allowed. Susan herself only wore a dress that seemed to be straight out of the medieval ages, and her hair was pulled back into a braid, her hair weaved through with gold colored netting and ribbon. The two friends hugged each other enthusiastically, as Susan's beau stood to the side dressed as Romeo.  
  
"Susan! You look quite astonishing yourself!" Allyriane smiled at her tenderly, a strip of black mask covering the top half of her face. It was still painfully easy for others to recognize her. She couldn't believe how warm it was in the room. Already, she felt a bit flustered and red. "The two of you look wonderful."  
  
"Where is your beau, Lyre?" Susan asked softly, looking around in the immediate area for Charles. "Didn't he escort you?"  
  
"Oh, I came by carriage alone." Allyriane confessed. "He was supposed to meet me when I climbed out, but William and Elan were there. Apparently Charles wants to finish his studies before coming down, so I am just going to wait for him."  
  
"Ah, I hope he doesn't take too long." Susan giggled. "I promised to save him just one dance, if I could steal him away from you."  
  
Shaking her head, Allyriane laughed, and walked towards the refreshment table. Her vocal teacher stood nearby as one of the chaperones, so she took up a few moments talking to him before Elan came up to her with two cups of cool punch in her hand.  
  
"Here, Lyre." She offered. Allyriane glanced at her a bit awkwardly. Usually, Elan wasn't even on speaking terms with her. Then she shrugged off her ill feelings. It was probably - hopefully - just the good mood of the party that had gotten to Elan's rotten little heart. "It's so hot in here. Best to keep cool before you let the heat get to you."  
  
"Oh, thank you." She smiled at her sincerely, and sipped at the punch eagerly. She really was rather thirsty. "I think you're right about the heat. To think a month ago we were still buried in snow."  
  
"Oh, but the weather isn't really that different in Paris, is it?" She inquired.  
  
"No, no." Allyriane assured her. "It just takes me by surprise every year; the changing of the seasons. I have a love of nature that I got from my father. Most of my qualities I got from him." She laughed. "He often says he wishes that I'd inherited a bit more of my mother."  
  
Elan laughed, actually being sincere about it for the moment. Yet she stilled watched eagerly as Allyriane finished off the first cup of punch, only to reach for another at the nearby table. Turning, Elan ended the conversation with the young beauty, and sashayed her way across the room towards the door. She could see William standing there, watching anxiously.  
  
"Did she drink it?" He finally whispered. When Elan did not stop by him, but did nod as she passed, he backed out of the room, presumably to put on his new costume.  
  
////////////////////////--------------------//////////////////////////  
  
"Charles! There you are!" Allyriane smiled brilliantly as she finished her third cup of punch - the second which Elan had offered her. As the Commendatore from 'Don Giovanni' approached her, it was hard not to be intimidated by such height. He really did appear to be carved out of stone. She assumed he must have spoken when he bowed to her in the old fashion, and then offered his hand to her to bring her out onto the dance floor. Yet the room was too loud with all of the chattering going on over the music of the rather large orchestra that had been hired for the evening.  
  
"Charles, you're awfully quite this evening." She noted after they had gone through two or three waltzes, and one jig.  
  
A dance known in America as the Virginia reel came up, and all of the questions running through her head were forgotten as the room began to spin. She thought that perhaps it was only the excitement and heat of the room. Yet when she almost fell against Charles, she realized she needed a spot of fresh air. From a distance, she heard him offer to take her outside, and then the next thing she remembered, she was not in the courtyard outside of the ballroom of the school, but on a bench behind the school building itself.  
  
"Charles . . . What are you doing?" She asked, worried when he loosened the laces to her bodice. "Really, I think I'm starting to feel better. This isn't necessary. I can breathe perfectly fine now." He still fumbled with the laces. "Charles - stop it! STOP!" 


	8. Chapter Eight

Chapter Eight  
  
"What do you mean, you left the costume there?" Elan hissed in agitation, turning to hurry out of the ballroom as Narcissus continued trying to whisper to her. "No, Billy! You idiot! We aren't framing him, for Christ's sake!"  
  
"You might want to, rather than be caught yourself." William grabbed her arm roughly, pulling her towards a wall where less people were chatting. "She passed out, Elan! You gave her too much laudanum! I don't know just how much, but she passed out!"  
  
Elan's face paled.  
  
"How the hell am I going to get blamed if she's seriously hurt?" She challenged then, her eyes narrowing on his face.  
  
"You're the one with the vial of morphine up your sleeve." William reminded her coldly. "She could be in a coma, for all I know. Hell, Elan, she could be DYING!"  
  
"Then go get the costume!"  
  
"Hell no! If they find the costume and think he did it, I'll be off Scott free."  
  
One too many people were looking at them curiously because of their agitated voices, and Elan forced herself to quiet down.  
  
"I'll get it myself." She muttered, and stalked out of the room, pausing when he blocked her path. "Move it, Billy!"  
  
"When do you follow through on your end of the bargain?" He demanded. His eyes were hard on her, startlingly cold. Elan had never seen him like that. Apparently following through with their little scheme had made his lust not only rise, but stick around.  
  
"Whenever I wish." She spat, and shoved by him. She moved down the corridors and out through the back door of the building, searching around for the bench where William had supposedly left the unconscious Allyriane. Several yards off he saw her, lying across the curved stone bench, her costume an utter mess of torn fabric. "God, you really did do a number on her." She muttered, going to grab up the costume from where it lay on the floor. She hurried back inside, and tried every single classroom along the way back to the ballroom to find a door that was unlocked. The music room was unlocked, and she hurried to dispose of the costume, throwing it into a surprisingly large trash bin.  
  
With a sigh, she turned to walk out, and was surprised to see William standing there, staring at her. She froze under his gaze. Something must have been awakened in him that night, because when he came towards her, she actually felt a bit afraid of him. Yet when his hand came up to touch her cheek, it was with the same gentleness she'd always known to be in him.  
  
"If you don't mind, I'd like you to pay up now." He told her in a low, dangerous voice that brooked no argument. "If I wait any longer, you might change your mind. And I won't let you change your mind this time, my dear Elan."  
  
"Billy . . ." She whispered. "We can't be caught here!"  
  
"No one is going to come looking for us." He reminded her softly, and leaned down to press a light kiss to her mouth.  
  
///////////////////////////-------------------------------------- //////////////////////////////////////  
  
Charles groaned as he rolled onto his side in the dormitory. His side burned like the sting of a white-faced hornet. Slowly lifting up his shirt, as he struggled to sit up, he looked at the red welt surrounding the small scab of a puncture wound. What the hell had happened to him? He couldn't even remember being attacked. Obviously, something had happened. He remembered William leaving for the ----  
  
The masquerade! Lifting his head sharply, he saw that it was nearly ten o'clock. He'd been expected there at seven-thirty! Standing, he shuffled over to his closet in search of his Don Giovanni costume. No costume in the closet. He searched every possible cubby of the room, and still couldn't find it. With a groan, he decided he better hurry down there before Allyriane thought she'd been stood up entirely. He just hoped she was still there.  
  
Hurrying downstairs, he found that the ballroom was actually quite empty. That seemed nearly impossible. The party didn't even end until eleven-thirty. Yet there were still a few remaining people there. Chaperones, and students who lived in the school, and the like, stood around looking teary-eyed or simply distressed and grim. He looked over to see Susan with her beau, dressed as Romeo and Juliet. Susan was crying loudly on her beaus' shoulder, and he moved over to try and find out what was wrong.  
  
"Chagney, where have you been?" She asked, wiping at her eyes as he approached, using the handkerchief her beau offered her. "I haven't seen you since the Virginia reel."  
  
"The . . .what?" He was startled. "I haven't been down here at all. I can't remember exactly what, but something happened in my room. I must have fallen asleep at my desk." He did not mention the swollen wound on his side. "My costume is missing though."  
  
"That wasn't you?" She replied, her eyes wide. "Oh, God, Charles! So you don't know??"  
  
"Know . . .what?" He asked, now very worried at her sad expression. "Where is Lyre? Did she go home?"  
  
"Oh, Charles . . ." She whispered, sobbing harder once again. "Lyre is in the hospital . . . She was brought there an hour ago!"  
  
He turned and ran out of the room without even thinking. He didn't have any money on him, as he had not expected he would need to call a cab. Yet luckily one of the professors, the music professor, was just about to climb into a cabby.  
  
"Professor Austerlitz! Wait!" The man turned sharply at the sharp cry of the young Vicomte, watching as he ran down the steps of the school.  
  
"Charles de Chagney!" He huffed, looking more than angry at what was going on around him. "Where have you been? Don't you know what's been going on, boy?"  
  
"No, Sir." He replied honestly. "Please, where are you going?"  
  
"Don't you know that your little French lady is in the hospital?" Professor Austerlitz always had been the kind of man who thought people should know everything when he wanted them to know it. "I'm going to see if she's going to be all right. Her parents were sent for fifty minutes ago!"  
  
"Sir, someone stole my costume, and I think they may have attended the Masquerade in it, posing as me. That's the most I can gather. Something happened to me in my room, and I just woke up from it . . . whatever it was. I can't recall just now. I hope it will come back to my memory. Tell me, what happened to Lyre?"  
  
The man stared down at Charles, his face becoming concerned and sympathetic.  
  
"Come on, lad. I'll give you a lift." He offered, and they climbed into the rig together. "She was attacked, Charles."  
  
The tone of the professors' voice worried Charles, and he felt a lump forming in his throat. A fit of panic nearly seized him, but he forced himself under control.  
  
"Attacked?" He whispered. "What do you mean, attacked?"  
  
The man only shook his head.  
  
///////////////////////////////------------------- //////////////////////////////////  
  
"Stay here, Izzy. I'll go in, all right? You stay here until I come back. Just sit here, and try to rest."  
  
Those words were so easy to speak. Yet it was far from easy to take his own advice. Erik had been reading the evening paper when the knock came to the apartment door. A fellow student of his daughters' had been sent to give him the terrible news of how Allyriane had been found on the property behind the school, looking quite beaten up, with her clothes torn as though something far worse than a 'regular' physical assault had occurred. When he'd arrived at the hospital, the doctor had confirmed that terrible suspicion, and then added to the weight on Erik's shoulders by saying she was unconscious because of some drug. The symptoms had pointed to different drugs, yet she had definitely taken something.  
  
Leaving his wife in the trustworthy hands of the doctor, Erik made his way carefully into the hospital room where his daughter lay unconscious. She'd been cleaned up fairly well by the nurses, and didn't seem as badly hurt as he had truly expected. There was a purplish bruise on her left cheek, and the mark of fingerprints on her upper arms, and wrists. The worst of the damage, however, he had already been told, lay beneath her clothes, and even beneath the skin, where no one would detect it simply by looking at her. She wore a frilly cotton nightgown, which Isabelle had brought back after the hospital staff requested it  
  
"Oh, Lyre . . ." He whispered hoarsely, sitting on the edge of the bed, and lifting her small hand into his own. He had hoped that no such tragedy would ever happen to a woman he loved. Yet here he was, staring at the delicate flower he'd watched grow, in every since of the word, for nearly seventeen years. The blossom she'd become so battered and bruised . . .  
  
The murderous rage he had felt when first being told about what happened had passed. There had been nothing he could do about the events that had already occurred, although he had certainly come close to destroying every bit of furniture and equipment in the hallway. There would be rage again, he was certain of it; rage that would have no ending, until the blood of the man, or men, that had hurt his daughter was spilt.  
  
He'd nearly killed the young Vicomte de Chagney when he'd arrived with Allyriane's music professor. He'd thought he was the one guilty of the crime, for the student who had come to fetch him at the apartment had said she had disappeared with a man in that costume. Yet after Charles had spoken to him in the hospital, Erik had sensed no lie in his confusing story. No, Charles couldn't have been guilty. Not with the tears he tried so desperately to hide in front of the crowd around him, threatening to spill down his cheeks at any moment.  
  
"Lyre, I am so sorry." He whispered, stroking the back of her hand gently. "I should have found some way to protect you. The headmaster of the school asked me if I might chaperone the masquerade. They needed the help. But I couldn't. I thought you would think I was sheltering you too much. I didn't want you to feel suffocated, going to your first party with my keen eye constantly on you."  
  
He was blaming himself again, just as he'd blamed himself for Christine's death. Neither of the events could have been prevented. He had not known what was going to happen. He'd had no inkling that anything could be wrong. Yet he still found fault in himself. The man who had once been able to solve anything now found himself quite helpless and blameless for the wrongs done in the world. He found ways to blame himself, though. There was no way he could keep from not blaming himself. The guilt he felt was so great, simply because he knew the horrible thing that had just happened that night would haunt his daughter for the rest of her days. Not only through nightmares, but also through the whispering of gossip, and the snobby remarks of the fools who always thought the woman was to blame when a man raped her.  
  
"Lyre . . ."  
  
He closed his eyes, allowing himself to weep for a moment. His daughter had been hurt, and there was nothing he could do to change it. There was nothing that could make her forget it. He could do nothing to protect her from the maliciousness of rumor and ignorance. Unlike when she was a child, who could be led by the hand and soothed by the simple consolation of her father, Erik could not do anything for her anymore.  
  
As he watched over her, Allyriane seemed so still and quiet for over an hour. Yet one A.M approached, and she began to stir as the drugs she had been poisoned with started to wear off. She moaned quietly in pain, and tilted her head in the direction of the small oil lamp on a table to the right of her bed. Erik leaned over quickly, reaching down to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. She flinched, and then opened her eyes slowly. Erik simply sat and stared down at her soft gaze as her eyes focused.  
  
"Papa?" She finally asked curiously, her tongue darting out from her mouth to dampen her lips. "Papa, what are you doing here? Where am I?"  
  
"We're in the hospital, Cherie." Erik whispered softly, "Do you remember the Masquerade, amoureux?"  
  
"The Masquerade?" Her eyes narrowed a bit, and she tried to remember. Images slowly began seeping into her memory of dancing with the statue of the Commendatore from 'Don Giovanni'. She remembered feeling dizzy and going out into the night air. She remembered fumbling . . . arguing and screaming. Violence. She suddenly felt sick. She had been dizzy and disoriented at the time, so the images were a bit fuzzy. Yet they were there. Closing her eyes, Allyriane nodded slowly. "I . . . I remember Papa. Could I have a drink of water? I don't feel well!"  
  
Erik leapt to his feet immediately. Turning, he moved across the room to where a porcelain bowl and pitcher full of water had been left. Grabbing up a glass from beside the oil lamp on her bedside table, he filled it with the water, and then helped his daughter to sit up as she sipped it carefully. She grimaced from the taste of the warm liquid, but it still helped her to feel less like vomiting.  
  
"Amoureux, I need to ask if you know who hurt you." His voice trembled slightly, as did the glass in his hand as he moved to put it aside once more. Allyriane opened her eyes again and looked up at him. How her eyes haunted him in that moment. The horror of what had happened to her sinking in. Yet she was incredibly strong, and very brave. She didn't start to cry. Her eyes didn't even mist over with tears.  
  
"I . . . think I remember pulling off the headset." She replied uncertainly. "It wasn't Charles. The hair was too dark. Yet . . . he was in Charles' costume, your costume. I don't know . . . I couldn't see his face."  
  
"Hush, ma petite." He soothed softly, leaning down to kiss her forehead. "I already know that it wasn't Charles. He is outside with your maman. He told me that his costume was stolen. Although he couldn't remember when he first came here, it seems he was attacked in his room. Someone was trying to set you both up."  
  
She shook her head, feeling sick again. Yet she did not ask for water this time. She swallowed the foul taste of disgust and shame welling up in her. Her fingers tightened around Erik's hand, and he returned the grip reassuringly.  
  
"I will try and remember his face, Papa." She promised in a hoarse whisper. "Could . . . could Charles come in? I want to see Charles."  
  
Erik felt a stab of jealousy. She no longer wanted her beloved father there to comfort her. She didn't ask for him to sing to her, and make the world feel right again, as she might have after some horrible nightmare. Instead, she asked for Charles, the son of his former rival, and the young man who was trying to lure her away from her family. Still, he nodded, and stood slowly.  
  
"Do you want to see him alone?" He asked softly. He was her father, and he knew she would have to grow up sooner or later. Yet this was too soon for him. She was his one and only child, and her innocence had passed too quickly. She'd grown up too fast.  
  
"If that's all right?"  
  
"Of course, my darling." He breathed, slowly releasing her hand, and turning to walk out of the private room. Charles and Isabelle both looked up at him anxiously, as they sat close together on a bench against the wall. Charles had his arm in a comforting manner around the mother of his girlfriend. Isabelle had a wrinkled and nearly ruined silk handkerchief clutched in her hand.  
  
"Is she awake?"  
  
"She wants to see you, Charles." Erik said with almost no emotion. "Before you go in there, I want to ask you something very important. Do you know anyone who would want to hurt her?"  
  
Charles stood, watching Erik for a very long moment. He was deep in thought. Finally, his eyes narrowed.  
  
"The only person I can think of is not . . . physically capable of doing such a thing." He finally replied coolly. "Unless she bribed someone else into doing it for her."  
  
"Who is she?" Erik grabbed Charles by the shoulders immediately, his eyes fierce. "Who would she bribe?"  
  
"Her name is Elan." He said quickly. "Yet I don't know who she would . . ." His eyes widened suddenly, and he too looked ill. "Mon Dieu . . . There is a young man she's close to . . . and to be honest he was the only one close enough to me during my attack to have been the one to pull off the deed. I mean . . . He would have come running if he'd heard me struggling unless it was he. He'd only left the room moments before."  
  
"His name, Charles!"  
  
The young Vicomte grimaced in pain, as Erik's fingers dug painfully into his shoulders.  
  
"William Sanchez. He also has access to needles and drugs. His brother is a doctor. Not here, but in the next town."  
  
Turning, Erik stormed off down the hallway, pursued by two police officers who had been sitting with Charles for the past hour and a half, trying to get a statement out of him that made sense about the attack, which had occurred in his dorm room.  
  
Charles turned quietly, and made his way with stooped shoulders into Allyriane's room. It was relatively dark in there, except for the lamp at her bedside. Moving inward to look at her for the first time, and see how badly she was injured, he let out a sigh of relief. It was not half so terrible as he had imagined it would be. Still, the girl had been raped. Was that not the worst thing that could happen to any woman?  
  
"Charles . . ." She smiled up at him weakly, obviously in pain. Yet she reached out for him, despite the strain it caused in her shoulders. He moved a few steps closer, but didn't approach the bed.  
  
He loved her so much. Yet the only thing that kept going through his mind was that she had been raped. It was something that he, as a man, could never imagine suffering. He, just as Erik did, blamed himself for what had happened to her. Yet his concern and pain went deeper than that. He actually felt a little bit angry that someone had dared to touch her, to shame her with this horrible situation. Everyone would know what had happened within the week. All of Boston would know that Allyriane was a shamed woman.  
  
He didn't care what other people thought about her. Society usually shamed the woman who had been assaulted, rather than the culprit. Charles did not do that. Allyriane had nothing to be ashamed of. She was the victim of cruel jealousy and malice, nothing more. Still, he found it very difficult to look at her. How was he, personally, going to deal with all of the questions and whispered rumors? There was no way to escape what people might say about the Comte de Chagneys' son. It was something he'd never realized he could be afraid of; his very own reputation.  
  
That wasn't all. Charles was unable to feel as though the looks that Isabelle, Erik, and now even Allyriane, gave him, were filled with bitterness and hatred and accusation. How was a man able to face that when it felt as though an entire family blamed him for the tragedy that they were all victim to?  
  
"Charles . . . please?"  
  
He realized that he'd been standing there for long minutes, but he still couldn't go over to embrace her. There were tears standing in her eyes now, for the first time since she'd awakened to remember the horrid truth. He wanted so much to go forward and kiss them out of her eyes. Nothing would have made him happier. But he could not do it.  
  
"You're all right, Lyre." He whispered finally. "I thank God for that. I just wanted to see that you were all right."  
  
It was such a filthy lie. He saw the confusion and pain that entered her eyes as he backed away. He was forced to turn around so she could not see his own pain and torment. He would have to work things out in his mind if he were ever going to be able to look her in the eye again.  
  
"I'll write, Cherie." He promised her in a quiet voice that barely reached her across the room. "I promise I'll write."  
  
"Where are you going?" She sat up in her bed quickly, panic gripping her heart. She remained sitting up, despite the dizziness that swept through her brain, and the pain all through her body.  
  
"Home." Charles murmured. "Home to New York. I'll write."  
  
As the door swung shut behind him, Allyriane collapsed onto the bed in tears, sobbing strenuously. So she would indeed suffer the fate of shame after all. Charles, dear sweet Charles, did not even want her now. He could not bring himself to so much as take her hand. If Charles could not love a ruined young woman, then certainly no other man on earth could either. 


	9. Chapter Nine

A/N: All right, I know people can't review all the time, but I think reviews have gone particularly slow. So I'm going to make a rule that unless I get a certain undisclosed number of reviews, I will not put up the next chapter, ok? Besides, that gives me more time to write the next one!! **Grins  
  
Desolator, thank you for finally reviewing! Missed you! Yet I'd love it if I could make a request. Could you review separate chapters for me in this story sometime? I'd love to see what you think of each chapter and not just the whole. if you can't or won't that's fine too.  
  
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Chapter Eight  
  
They knew the masquerade was long over, and Elan had argued lightly with William several times that she ought to be getting home. Her father was going to tan her hide if he found out how late she'd been out. Yet William had kept talking her into staying. With their clothes strewn carelessly about the music room, he would often keep something away from her when she tried to dress. Certainly by becoming lovers, they had grown closer to one another. It was almost as though they truly were boyfriend and girlfriend. Yet make no mistake, Elan still planned on having Charles.  
  
They had no idea that their little scheme had been discovered (Within reason). They had no idea that they were implicated in the whole sordid mess involving Allyriane's rape. There was no thought in their minds about the school being looked over. They'd no idea whatsoever that Erik and two police officers had a skeleton key in their hands from the headmasters' office, and were searching through every room in the school, including every one of the dorms.  
  
"You are insatiable, Billy." Elan whispered in his ear, just before the door flew open to reveal three very shocked, embarrassed, and angry people. They came upon the two lovers as they were sprawled atop the closed grand piano that Professor Austerlitz had prized for over twenty years. With cries of shock and anger throughout the room, Elan quickly slipped behind the piano to hide her nakedness, while William grabbed for his pants.  
  
Erik stood observing the scene with eyes of amber that seemed iced over with thick frost. They were utterly cold and filled with fury. After the initial shock of the situation they all found themselves in, Erik started to storm forward, his hand reaching out threateningly for William. He had seen in one quick sweep of the room, that the very costume, which had once belonged to him, was thrown halfway into a large garbage bin in the corner. The full head mask was thrown carelessly on the floor at its' base. Already there was no question in his mind that this man was guilty of the rape of his daughter.  
  
The officer whom Erik had spoken the most to in the whole of that evening shot forward, grabbing his arm to try and restrain him. Erik threw the man off easily, the boiling fury he'd known in the hospital welling up within his veins again. He could care less about the woman who cowered naked behind the grand piano, now on her hands and knees as she hunted for a bit of her clothing. He would deal with her another day, on a different level. She had planned it all, so it would be a far worse punishment for her. Both of the police were trying to keep Erik away from William, who was suddenly bent backwards over the piano with his throat in a death grip.  
  
"Sir! You can't help your daughter by killing this bastard, and being arrested yourself!" The first officer exclaimed imploringly. "She'll need you at her side! Not rotting away in a cell!"  
  
The words sank through to Erik slowly. A cell . . . a cage . . . he didn't want to be in one of those again. Slowly, he backed away from William, his eyes still boring into the young man who now trembled like an infant in front of him. He trembled as though he were one of the stagehands back in Paris, faced with the infamous Opera Ghost. It was enough for the moment. Not enough to appease him entirely, but enough for the moment. He had to think of his daughter. If he went to jail, what were she and Isabelle to do?  
  
"Get dressed." He spat at the young man, and then looked without caring about her nakedness to Elan. He bent down to pick up the overcoat with ruffled sleeves that she'd apparently been wearing hours before. As he shook it to remove some of the wrinkles, something fell onto the oriental carpet beneath his feet, and he stooped to inspect it.  
  
It was a vial of liquid. Erik looked up sharply to Elan, who stood stock still in terror as their eyes met. Erik turned to look at the officer, and handed him the vial. Then, he reached for Williams' overcoat, and shook it as well. This time, something caught his attention in the lower left pocket, a lump as though something were in it. Cautiously, he reached in and pulled out a needle. Growling, he handed this, too, to the officer beside him.  
  
"I'd advice you to have them inspected." He said, and then moved up to William and Elan as they finally finished dressing - except for their overcoats - and stood holding one another lightly. "What you have done is the most repulsive thing that I have ever heard of." He said to them in a low voice. "I give you a sacred promise that neither of you will ever get away with this. You will never outlive it. That is NOT a threat. I never waste my time with threats!"  
  
He had to leave then, before he lost all control. The police officers had the two under arrest, and he was no longer needed. He would have stayed, had his control allowed him to. He wanted to stay and see that nothing happened to get them out of the custody of the police. One thing had already been promised him. Whatever happened to Elan; his rich father, no matter who tried to get involved, would not buy William out of police custody. The President himself could not get William out of jail for what he'd done.  
  
Erik was slow in returning to the hospital. He was glad he could tell his daughter that those who had meant her harm were in jail. Yet he still wasn't certain if he could face her. Somehow, being robbed of the pleasure of destroying William utterly had made him feel ashamed of facing her again. He still blamed himself that this had been allowed to happen to her.  
  
Isabelle was in the hospital room with their daughter when he got back. Allyriane did not look at him, but kept her face hidden. Still, the very shaking of her body let on to him that she was crying. At first, he thought that she had finally begun to realize just what had happened to her. Yet his wife, her eyes still bloodshot, stood to walk him out of the room and whisper to him in a low voice.  
  
"Charles is gone." She breathed. The words seemed to hold such finality to them. Erik's jaw nearly dropped. "He left only a few minutes after you. She says that he's going back to New York. He couldn't deal with it, Erik. She needed him so much, and he couldn't even look at her."  
  
Isabelle's voice was filled with disgust for the first time. Yet, oddly, Erik didn't feel rage at the Vicomte's insolence. He did not even fully blame the young man for leaving. It was a lot to try and deal with. To have your sweetheart raped when you could not have done anything to protect her, to see her lying in a hospital bed in pain and torment. He couldn't say he blamed Charles at all. Perhaps once his mind had come to terms with the situation, he would be back. For the sake of his daughter, he certainly hoped so.  
  
"All she needs right now is us." Erik told Isabelle softly. "We're her parents, and we are all she is going to need. She doesn't need some young man hanging around her, reminding her of what was done to her. Any young men that go near her . . . God only knows how it might affect her in the future."  
  
They held onto each other for a long moment, being a great comfort for one another, as they always had been. Erik kissed her cheek gently; thinking that if anything like that had ever happened to her . . . he would go insane. He wouldn't have been able to deal with it. It wouldn't be from disgust or shame . . . unless it was shame from his incapability to protect her. Everything that ever happened to those he loved, he blamed himself.  
  
"Go back to her now." Isabelle finally breathed. "Sing to her like you used to, Mon amour. It's always helped her before."  
  
"Yes, but her nightmares had never come true before." He muttered, before walking back into the hospital room with her. Making his way across the room, he gently touched Allyriane's shoulder. Reluctantly, she let him roll her onto her back so that she was looking up at him with her reddened, tear filled eyes. "It's all right, Lyre." He promised in a low, even voice. "Everything is going to be just fine from now on. I promise you. I know that Charles is gone, but he will come back. If I know anything about the de Chagney's, it is that they are always consistent about one thing. They always come back."  
  
Then he fell into singing for her.  
  
"Come, come to these arms, my love, delight with life. You will not be kidnapped from me, while I hold you to my heart. In every anxious moment, I call for you, and you alone. I long . . . Oh come, come, I say again. I love you. I love you with an immense love. Yes, I say again . . ."  
  
She did not fall asleep for some minutes, and Erik gently consoled her with his voice, having known it would be difficult to console her now with his voice alone. When all of a sudden everything had been taken from her, he had known she would not heal through one of his songs. No matter how powerful his voice was, he could not make his daughter forget what had happened to her. He could not bring Charles back to her, either. He felt so useless, until she finally gave into the sound of his songs, and fell asleep.  
  
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"Father! What are you doing here?"  
  
Charles had just come off the train from Boston, and was at Grand Central Station in New York City. He'd called from the Boston station, asking if his father would send their automobile to pick him up. Never had he imagined that his father would accompany the chauffer into the city. Not the Comte de Chagney, who barely ever left the mansion in which they lived. Yet there he was, helping the chauffer take Charles' bags.  
  
"I may be a bit out of it with the grief I cannot shake at the loss of your mother, but I am still your father. A good father can tell when his son is upset about something." Raoul looked at his son pointedly. Charles knew he was right. However insane his grief had made him, over the loss of his wife, Raoul had never failed at being a father. It was difficult, but he had struggled through Charles' entire life. Even with Katherine, whom he was so protective over, Raoul never failed to be a devoted father when he was truly needed.  
  
"You know too much." Charles finally replied as they made their way to the automobile. The chauffer was extremely careful about not looking at his employers, for that would imply eavesdropping. "You're right, I'm upset about something. I'd rather not talk about it, though, if it is all the same to you."  
  
"As a matter of fact, I do care." Raoul said in a dangerous voice. "Charles, you have to tell me what it is."  
  
"It's something I have to take care of on my own."  
  
"Charles! I am not going to spend this entire summer arguing with you again! Especially not about something that is hurting you!"  
  
His father had stopped dead when he bellowed this, and a few people glanced at the pair as though they were insane. Raoul took a moment to calm down, and Charles resumed his path towards the car. The chauffer took all of the bags and put them atop the automobile, and everyone climbed into their respective seats. Finally, Charles and Raoul were alone on the back seat, separated from the chauffer by a closed window.  
  
"It's Allyriane." Charles finally murmured. "The young lady who I have talked to you about on previous visits; Erik's daughter - the man who once sang with mother on the stage of the Paris Opera. Well . . . she was attacked at the annual masquerade party last night."  
  
His words came out slow and stiff, almost entirely emotionless. He was still trying to let that horrible fact sink into his brain. The event he would have to live with for the rest of his days, just like Allyriane would have to. He wasn't sure he'd ever stop having nightmares about the attack. He'd already had one, when he fell asleep on the train to New York. A dream of being there when Allyriane was attacked, but being so paralyzed that her screams of help to him went unanswered, despite his greatest efforts.  
  
"Attacked?" Raoul replied, just as Charles remembered doing with Professor Austerlitz had explained the situation to him.  
  
"She was raped, father." Charles murmured, staring down at his hands. He heard the sharp intake of breath his father gave beside him, and did not look up to him. "She was raped because someone who wanted me bribed another man, a young man who I trusted as a friend, into doing it to her. Because I didn't become one of the many suitors chasing after her skirt, Allyriane was raped. I couldn't stand there and face her knowing that."  
  
"Charles . . ." Raoul groaned, and shook his head as he brought his hands up to his face, rubbing his temples and then his eyes. "My God, Charles, you are the greatest fool I have ever met!"  
  
Startled by his fathers' scolding, he looked up to him sharply.  
  
"Father?" He asked in confusion. Raoul lowered his hands, and turned so that he faced Charles at a diagonal before leaning in towards him.  
  
"Do you love the girl, Charles? If you do, you can overcome this. It was something rather similar that I had to overcome before I married your mother. She was never raped, but had I not shown up when I did, God only knows what might have happened."  
  
"The scandal that Monsieur Gènie hinted at?" Charles presumed. Raoul simply nodded. Charles knew that there was no point in badgering his father for the details just then. He didn't even care about the details, for once.  
  
"I still think you need to at least write the girl the second you get home." Raoul urged. "Poor child must think you've abandoned her."  
  
"I told her that I would write." Charles argued.  
  
"Telling a woman you'll write doesn't usually sink in with them if you leave in a hurry. Believe me, I have tried it." Raoul smiled gently at his son. "Do what I say, all right? Write to her today and I'll have it sent to her tomorrow." 


	10. Chapter Ten

Chapter Ten  
  
It was late afternoon the day after the attack that Erik brought his daughter home to her safe canopied bed, and gave her a bit of sedatives which the doctor had promised him would do no harm to her body, even though it was still not completely recovered from the laudanum overdose she'd been given by Elan. She had barely slept since awakening in his company the night before. He had barely slept himself. In fact, he doubted if anyone close to her had slept well that night.  
  
Charles was gone, undoubtedly to hide in his fathers' mansion somewhere in upstate New York.  
  
Isabelle was so overwhelmed with grief that all she could do was cry, at least until the three of them had returned home. Then she had promptly collapsed in bed from exhaustion.  
  
Erik himself was restless with so many different concerns that to name only one of them would mean nothing to the calmer minds.  
  
Allyriane, of course, was afraid to sleep. She'd slept after he'd sung to her, yet woken not an hour afterwards, sweating and weeping from nightmares. She had been afraid to sleep after that. Even the mild sedative Erik had given her took time to affect her tense frame.  
  
After nightfall, Erik was the only one still awake. His body ached with tiredness, and bruises of exhaustion were forming black circles under his eyes. He didn't care. He could still go another full day without rest and not suffer any long-term affects from it. He was too troubled to sleep just yet. He wanted to make sure that his wife and child would continue to sleep peacefully. He wanted to solve his daughters' new problem with Charles, so that in some way he might help the distressed couple.  
  
Most of all, however, he wanted to know what to do about William Sanchez. His hands had been around the little bastards' throat, and yet he had not killed him. Even had the police not interfered, Erik was not entirely certain he would have been able to do it. The moment he started crushing the windpipe of the obnoxious rapist, his entire body had started to tingle and throb, just enough to annoy him and let him know of its' presence. It had been a vague rendition of what he had experienced that night eighteen years ago, when he was transforming from Phantom to man. Only when he'd pulled away did the throbbing - which had begun to build rapidly within the space of a few seconds - dissipate.  
  
The throbbing had been nothing but a distraction. Yet he didn't know what it had meant. To have only felt it twice in his life, Erik wondered if he ought to go look at himself in the mirror, and make sure there was not some semblance of the Angel of Doom in his reflection once again. Certainly he hadn't changed again. His wife and daughter had recognized him. Everyone had recognized him without screaming in shock terror or horror. Besides, he couldn't think for the world why his handsome physique would desert him after eighteen years of a blissful life that had been interrupted only by short moments of torment.  
  
There was only one connection that he could make. In Eighteen years, he had not felt the murderous rage within him as he had when William stood before him. He hadn't felt like that since he had been the Phantom of the Opera. The connection was dim, but it nearly made sense to him. There was no proof to say it was what had caused him to change once. Yet he wasn't going to test the theory and kill just to see if he would again turn old and ugly. No, he'd had enough strange events occurring around him to try and solve this new mystery. He'd given up that type of mischief when he became a normal man.  
  
A knock came to the door, and Erik snapped out of his reverie, realizing he'd been standing for some time with his forehead against the cool glass of the parlor bay window. Turning, he looked out into the hall and the outer door directly opposite. Another knock sounded and he sighed. He'd better answer it before the stranger callers woke up his family. Slowly moving to the door, he cracked it open just enough to peer outside.  
  
"Who is it?" He demanded in a low voice.  
  
"When you spared, for the first time, a life which you could have taken, you were given your gift of a handsome face."  
  
Erik swung the door open, having to catch it before it slammed into the wall. He was so startled. Yet even when the door opened completely, he could not see anyone outside. Yet he had known that voice. As impossible as it was, he'd heard the voice of his friend Nadir, who had passed away when Allyriane was eleven. There was no movement or sound after the first sentence, yet Erik still listened carefully. Finally, the voice did come again.  
  
"To show no mercy now, even when you face the guilty; to play the role of the Higher Being, and pass judgment, you will renounce the world you've come to love, and perhaps you will be again forced into shadow."  
  
"Nadir?" Carefully, Erik stepped out into the hall. It crossed his mind that he may have fallen asleep while he'd been sitting in his chair in the parlor. Perhaps this was all a dream. Still, his friend had rarely steered him wrong, however stubborn or sarcastic Erik had been when it come to listening to him. "Nadir, is that you?"  
  
No reply. There was also no one out in the hallway.  
  
"Love, Erik. Just love. Don't let anything or anyone get in the way."  
  
He whirled to face his apartment door, which he'd left open. That was where the voice had come from. Yet still, there was no one standing there. Quickly stepping inside, Erik shut and bolted the apartment door, and began to search every room and closet as silently as he could. He looked in every possible place that someone might hide, and found nothing. Finally, he simply stood in the middle of his parlor, waiting to hear the voice speak again.  
  
Nadir did not speak to him again.  
  
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"Charles, Father is going to be furious if you don't write that letter."  
  
Katherine gently touched her brothers' arm as they sat side-by-side on the sofa in her private sitting room. Tonight she wore a brilliant emerald green dress with little counterfeit amethysts aligning the collar and cuffs. Her honey-golden hair was pulled back into a braid, although the shortest curls of her bangs, and those around her ears, remained loose to frame her face beautifully. She had just turned fifteen only a week before the whole attack had taken place. Although Charles' had bought her a present, he'd left it at the school by accident, and they were now talking about what had happened to Lyre.  
  
"I know." He whispered softly. "I want to write to her, but what am I supposed to say to her? Tell her that I'm sorry I walked out on her but I'm too weak to deal with this?"  
  
"No." Katherine replied thoughtfully, insistently taking his hand between both of her own, and squeezing gently. "Why don't you invite them here for the summer, just as you've been planning to do? You don't have to talk about what happened at all. Just let yourself deal with that silently. Surely Madame Isabelle will come with her. I know that Monsieur Erik will probably be too busy with his business to accompany them, but surely you can invite her. Father has always been amiable with the idea of having her family visit. And surely your Lyre will forgive you for being so confused."  
  
Charles stared at his sister in wonder. With all the ways she looked like Christine; what Erik had told him about their mothers' personality was the exact opposite of his sister. She seemed to be wiser beyond her years, and bolder than their mother had been. She knew what she wanted, and was emotionally much stronger than Christine. Yet Katherine had not grown up poor as Christine had. She had not lost her father at a young age, and certainly had not grown up with fairy tales whispered to her every single night. Her mind was not filled with flights of fancy.  
  
"Kat, do you think that she will forgive me?" Charles finally whispered. "I made the biggest mistake of my life. I know I did. Yet I still cannot face her even now."  
  
"Then ask her to come in a month. That should be time enough." Kat shrugged, tossing her braid back over her shoulder. She could sound so flippant when she said things like that. Short and simple, as though there were no other answers to their dilemma. "And you should apologize for leaving the way you did. My idea is to tell her that you simply could not stand for her to see your grief over her torment."  
  
"Have you been reading those romance novels that Father forbid you ever touch?" Charles chuckled. "You are a true romantic, I think."  
  
"My dear brother, I get it from you!" Katherine challenged. "I know she'll forgive you. Her entire family will. Besides, it's about time I had the chance to ask this man about our mother. I'd like to hear him tell me about her himself. Perhaps he will tell me things that he wouldn't share with another boy!"  
  
Charles rolled his eyes and stood, kissing his sisters' cheek. It was early in the day, and he was dressed to go out riding. Two days had gone by since he had arrived at home. Two days had passed in which he had struggled with at least three hundred sheets of paper, all crumpled now and thrown in the trash; three hundred sheets of paper with scribbled notes to Allyriane that made no sense or simply sounded pathetic or false.  
  
"Will you go riding with me if I promise to have the letter written, sealed, and addressed by the time you're ready to go?"  
  
Katherine smiled, and nodded quickly.  
  
"At least father lets me do things like that when you're home." She said with relief. "If I want to go out riding alone, he never lets me leave the pasture."  
  
"Ah, well, we'll see if the usual summer arguments can change his mind about that."  
  
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"Papa, are you certain that you're all right?"  
  
It was the following Friday since the attack, which had happened almost exactly a week before - right down to the hour. Allyriane had healed amazingly well both physically and mentally, although she did still have frequent nightmares. Now, at least she was able to get to sleep without the aid of a sedative, and could often go back to sleep after her nightmares. Erik did what he could to help, but he hadn't necessarily been himself since that strange voice had spoken to him Saturday evening.  
  
'Seeing ghosts, you ancient fool?' he'd kept mocking himself. 'Must have been a trick.' Yet he didn't simply assume that hearing the voice of his deceased friend had been some strange trick. He'd thought over all that had been said to him very carefully. He had finally understood Nadir's message to him, and wasn't about to test the theory the voice had made.  
  
"Yes, ma Cherie, I swear to you, I'm perfectly fine." He looked to see her standing in a very snug yet extremely modest night shift, with chin-high collar of ruffles. The entire bedclothes seemed to be nothing but ruffles, hiding the frame beneath almost perfectly. The only thing she could not hide was her elegant hands, petite feet, and beautiful elliptical face. She clutched a thick crotchet blanket of wool tight about her tiny shoulders.  
  
"Then why are you just sitting at the piano without making a sound?" Allyriane challenged gently, pulling a round ottoman close to the piano bench to sit down on it. "I miss your music, Papa. Can't you play one of your old compositions for me?"  
  
"I don't play my own compositions for audiences." He insisted, giving her a gently scolding look. "You know that, ma petite. Would you prefer to hear Gounod's Faust? Or perhaps Rigoletto?"  
  
"Andrea Chénier . . . Sing Andrea Chénier."  
  
Erik's eyebrows rose.  
  
"You know that opera?" He asked, astounded. Allyriane blushed, lowering her eyes a bit. Erik had never had a single scrap of that sheet music in the house through all of her life, although he did remember performing it at one time on the stage of the Paris Opera.  
  
"It was your last performance, Papa. Maman took me to see it. I remember it a little."  
  
"Andrea Chénier it is." Erik promised, and then swept into song.  
  
"You have struck me here; where I, jealous, conceal the most pure beating of my soul. Now you will see, young lady, what a poem is the word 'love,' here for a reason to ridicule! One day to the blue spaces I looked profoundly, and to the fields filled with violets, rained the gold of the sun, and illuminated of gold the earth. It seemed the earth an immense treasure, and to her the skies served as a coffin."  
  
He watched his daughter closely as her eyes closed. She swayed a bit with the music. This was the daughter he'd known for so long. He couldn't help the smile of joy and relief that came across his features. Yet he didn't stop singing. He couldn't stop, not if his song made her happy once more.  
  
"Up from the earth to my face came a lively caress, a kiss. I shouted, overcome by love. I love you who kiss me divinely beautiful, my homeland! And I wanted, with great love, to pray! I passed through the door at a church; there a priest, in the alcove of the saints and of the Virgin -"  
  
"Erik?"  
  
He stopped abruptly, looking up to see that Isabelle was standing just over Allyriane. He hadn't even seen her come in. He'd been too intently watching his daughter.  
  
"What is it, ma amour?" he asked with a loving smile. Isabelle held up an envelope, and then looked to their daughter.  
  
"I've a letter from New York." She announced. "I thought Lyre might like to read it right away."  
  
"From New York?" Leaping to her feet, Allyriane turned to snatch the letter from Isabelle's hands in excitement. Coming round the piano, she tore the envelope open carelessly, and moved to read by the light of the window, as there was still a bit left from twilight - and the moon was already up, shiningly brightly over Boston, even in the purplish light of twilight.  
  
Erik watched his daughter with an intense gaze, reading her expression as she read the letter. She seemed to smile a few times, and tears filled her eyes. Yet he knew her. These weren't tears of anguish.  
  
"What does he say, Lyre?" He finally asked curiously. Allyriane looked up at him sharply, as though startled by the sound of his voice, and then broke out into a brilliant smile as one tear dripped down her left cheek, catching the light of the oil lamp Erik had set on the piano top, and reflecting like a tiny crystal.  
  
"Papa, would you let me go to New York to meet his family? Could Maman and I go to New York?"  
  
Erik's eyes widened a little, and heard a little muffled clap along with a soft gasp from his wife. Turning, he smiled at Isabelle, who had her gloved hands together just under her chin. She seemed to be almost giddy with happiness and relief for the sake of their daughters' happiness.  
  
"I don't see why not." He finally replied with a smile. "What about me? Am I not invited?"  
  
"On the contrary!" His daughter was fast to assure him, not realizing he'd been teasing. "Charles just thought that since you're so busy with the business, that you'd be unable to attend."  
  
"I could leave the business to run on its' own for at least a week." Erik smiled. "I wouldn't mind seeing Raoul again. I've . . . a surprisingly great deal to tell him!"  
  
He could imagine now the horror on Raoul's face when he whispered into the Comte's ear exactly whose daughter his son was courting. 


	11. Chapter Eleven

Chapter Eleven  
  
A/N - Steam I'd like to thank you for your support. You're my champion (lol). Still, I do hope just a tiny bit that you won't be the only one reviewing from now on, however much I love your feedback. (Snuggles) Well it doesn't matter that much really. If it's only you that's reading it, that's fine by me - though I have faith in other readers, even if they don't post. I'm just the over-anxious type who gets to any appt at least 45 minutes early.  
  
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Charles paced in the study anxiously, amusing Raoul to no end as he simply sat in a chair by the fireplace, a tumbler of brandy in his hands. He'd never seen his son act like this. Although he himself was a little excited about the arrival of their guests, he certainly wasn't half as excited as his poor flustered son.  
  
"You're going to work a groove in that floor." he said quietly, well aware that the floor was marble. "Can't you sit down for five minutes, Charles? She's going to get here eventually, and you'll have her here for a whole month. No rush to have her in your arms at this very instant."  
  
"He just might!"  
  
Raoul turned as his daughter threw open the door in a rather unladylike gesture. Usually she was so composed. She wore the dress Charles had given her that year for her birthday, of white pearl silk, the bodice dotted with counterfeit pearls. Charles turned to look at her with excited questioning.  
  
"The car is here!" Katherine continued, which had Charles charging for her in the doorway. Giggling, she turned to hurry down the hallway with him, and Raoul was almost right on their heels. Now that the guests were there, he couldn't exactly let his children greet the guests without him, or he'd seem terribly impolite.  
  
The family car pulled up in front of the stone steps just as all three of them assembled outside. The back door nearest the building flew open almost before the car had even stopped. Two seconds later, Allyriane had both feet on the ground. She looked like a slightly older woman; in a dress with skirt that sported a smaller cage, to make barely a noticeable hoop of the layers. The bodice she wore was of a more adult cut, which was usually seen on women who were middle aged. Her hair was tucked up under a burgundy hat that matched the color and velvet material of her dress.  
  
Katherine could hear her brothers' sharp intake of breath, and smiled understandingly. She could well see how her beauty might strike him breathless. She watched as Allyriane looked about in wonder, as her parents stepped from the car behind her. Allyriane's gaze met and held the eyes of Charles for a long moment.  
  
Isabelle came out first, auburn hair pulled back into a thick braid. She wore a sapphire dress of modest wool. She wore no hate; but held an antique looking parasol. Astonishing amethyst eyes looked to her hosts immediately, and her smile greeted both Charles and Raoul with obvious recognition.  
  
Erik stood from the car finally, his stance regal as any king. Both Charles and Catherine found his manner of dress odd, but made no real judgment on it. He was the only one not in some amazing color. In fact, he wasn't even wearing daytime attire. Katherine recognized his black and white evening suit. He was almost foreboding. He towered over the top of his daughters' hate, as he stood just behind her.  
  
"Good morning, Charles." He greeted softly, being the first one to speak.  
  
That seemed to snap the Vicomte into the real world again. He tore his eyes away from Allyriane's beautiful face. Turning, he bowed to Erik quickly, politely.  
  
"Monsieur!" He greeted with a smile. "How wonderful to see you here! Lyre wrote that you'd be joining them, but I wasn't entirely sure whether or not to believe her, with how your business must be run."  
  
Erik chuckled, shaking his head. Slowly, his eyes turned to Katherine as his daughter moved forward to hurry into Charles' gentle and welcoming embrace. Raoul smiled, seeing the young woman his boy seemed so smitten with. As Charles gently kissed her forehead and cheeks, it was obvious his son was being very considerate of the new uncertainty she felt while being touched by a young man. Still, she was utterly affectionate and happy while returning his embrace.  
  
Erik was staring at Katherine, as Isabelle looked between the two of them in mild confusion. Certainly, she could see the resemblance that Raoul and Erik knew existed between the daughter and Christine. Yet Erik seemed paralyzed by the resemblance. Even having learned in the past years that her husband had once been very much in love with the deceased Prima Donna, she had no idea why he was so struck by Katherine's young face.  
  
"You look so much like her . . ." Erik whispered, reaching into the cloak he kept over his shoulders to pull out a white rose. Approaching the steps, he held it out to the fourteen-year-old girl, and bowed slightly. "Perhaps you'll allow me, Mademoiselle Katherine, to see how much you may take after her? She had a beautiful voice."  
  
"My father says my voice is like hers, though not as finely trained as hers was." Katherine replied. "It's a great honor to meet you, Monsieur. I've been looking forward to speaking with you." Her eyes turned to Isabelle. "Welcome, Madame."  
  
Raoul finally cleared his throat, gaining the attention of both Erik and his bride. Allyriane would have looked up to him, but she seemed a bit too lost in Charles' gentle eyes. Quickly, Erik stepped away from the daughter of his lost beloved, and held his hand out to Raoul, shaking his in a firm grip. Isabelle gave a little bob of her head in greeting to him.  
  
"Monsieur Comte de Chagney! It has been ages!" Erik greeted enthusiastically, although his eyes burned intently on his former rival. "It's good to see you looking so well, although I think your hair could use a good dying."  
  
Raoul reached up to run his fingers through his slightly shaggy white hair. Yet he grinned sheepishly.  
  
"Well, I wasn't expecting to stay young forever." He replied, giving into the teasing tone his deceased wife's friend used.  
  
Poor Isabelle was the odd person in the group. Raoul and Erik could keep company while Charles, Katherine, and Allyriane kept each other occupied. Yet Isabelle couldn't decide what to do as they all moved in separate directions. Finally, as Charles escorted Allyriane towards the stables so they might go riding, Katherine turned and hurried back to her.  
  
"Madame! Want to go riding with us?"  
  
She hadn't been riding in years, but Isabelle smiled. What was the harm, she figured. It seemed Erik and Raoul had a great deal to talk about, the way they moved into the building. It only showed how little she knew. She had no idea the different items that Erik had tucked away under his cloak - including secrets.  
  
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The six of them were all sitting around the grand dinner table in the extravagant dining room of the de Chagney mansion. Charles and Raoul sat at the head and foot of the table. Katherine sat to Charles' left, and Isabelle sat beside her, to Raoul's right. On Charles' right sat Allyriane, and Erik sat between her and Raoul. Allyriane couldn't seem to get over the crystal and china that she was using. Although they used very nice plates at home for special occasions, Raoul had insisted that the dining set they now used were not the most expensive they had set aside for parties.  
  
"Did he show you the opera yet, Katherine?" Allyriane asked abruptly, her voice rising above the rest of the conversation at the table. Raoul looked down towards them questioningly, halting his own tale in mid- sentence, which he'd been telling to Erik.  
  
"Yes. We've already started working on one of the songs. I can't believe he has refused to show it to you until now! It's sublime!"  
  
Erik looked towards the girls slowly, ignoring Raoul's confusion.  
  
"Well, Katherine, I wrote that for a very special person in my life, from before I ever met Isabelle. Your voice is a great deal like hers."  
  
Raoul's eyebrows rose. To his knowledge, this was the first he'd ever heard of this man having liked his Christine.  
  
"You and Christine are the only ones who ever could have played Aminta." Erik continued, glancing at Raoul from the corner of his eye, finally. He realized that Raoul did not recognize the name of the character, but that wasn't so surprising. "Perhaps we can sing a part of it for everyone tonight."  
  
"Oh, I'm not ready yet!" Katherine protested. "Please, Monsieur Erik! Let me practice a bit more!"  
  
"Of course; if that is what you wish." Erik grinned at her gently. "You remind me so much of her, I see what your father sees. Very charming, quite beautiful, and one heck of an amazing talent."  
  
Everyone around them chuckled, and continued to chatter and dine until there was no food whatsoever left on the table, and the wine glasses (for those who chose to drink) had been emptied several times.  
  
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"Monsieur Gènie? What are you doing in here?"  
  
Charles grinned as he rode his fathers' white horse into the large stable house, and dismounted in order to more politely greet the gentleman who stood stroking the flank of an older mare. Erik looked up casually, having heard the horse arrive as the hooves pounded the floorboards of the stable. Charles certainly seemed in bright spirits.  
  
"I was admiring the collection of horses that you have." He admitted with a dismissive, graceful, flick of his wrist. "I haven't seen such fine animals as these in years. Even this one is still quite beautiful, though I think the poor girl is too old to bare the weight of even a child anymore."  
  
"She's stronger than she looks, Sir." Charles said quietly, moving up to stand opposite him. Smiling, he reached up to stroke between the eyes of the mare, and she seemed to close her eyes in pleasure. "There you go, Babette. That's her favorite place to be stroked, Sir, if you care to know."  
  
Erik chuckled, and turned to grab up an apple from a small pile he'd apparently brought out from the house. It had been years since he'd been able to just sit back and enjoy little things like this. A family could easily keep a man busy - and add to that a career with a very demanding schedule, and you have almost no time for yourself. This visit out into the country was just what he'd needed, even if it would be quite abbreviated.  
  
"Sir, I'd like to ask your permission about something." Charles said suddenly, bringing Erik's eyes to the lad quite sharply. "You're going to sing with Kat tonight, aren't you? In front of all of us so that we can finally all hear the results of the work you've been doing?"  
  
"That's the plan." Erik turned and walked towards the door to the stables, Erik following closely. "She wants to spend this last day rehearsing with me. I'd better get to that piano before she does, or she may become upset with me." He laughed. "She gets frustrated a lot faster than your mother did, I dare say. Must have your fathers' temper."  
  
"True, Sir." Charles laughed outright. "Well, anyway, I have something I'd like your blessing to give to Lyre." 


	12. Chapter Twelve

Katherine could barely recognize the ballroom, which for years had sat locked and abandoned in the center of the de Chagney house. Although of a modest size, the ballroom had once been exquisitely decorated, and often used during the social season. That had been when Charles had come of an age in which they could be introduced to society. The parties were meant to allow her father to rub shoulders with the elite of the state and country, making it possible for him to send his son to any school he desired, and offer him more than he might have been able to on his very own.  
  
She could just barely remember those parties. She had been so young at the time. Like any inquisitive child, though, she remembered being tucked into bed early by her nanny on the nights her father held his parties, and then waiting until she was quite sure the fidgety woman was asleep in the next room before sneaking downstairs to peer at the beautifully dressed men and women dancing about and drinking champagne. Those glimpses from childhood had forever stood out in her mind as the one rebellious thing she'd ever done against her fathers' orders.  
  
Today, the ballroom had been opened once more. Servants had swarmed the room to clean it, and make it exceed it's past glory with polished copper light fixtures, cleaned and polished glass, a waxed dance floor, and of course, the entire place had been very carefully dusted. Once the room had been aired out, servants brought in chairs from the dining hall, assembling them in a manner that would make the room like a small theatre, allowing her father, brother, Madame Isabelle, and Mademoiselle Allyriane to sit and observe her concert. She'd never seen a place so lovely in her life.  
  
"What do you think of all this, Monsieur?" Isabelle asked Raoul that afternoon, as they stood just in the doorway to the ballroom, listening to Erik and Katherine as she warmed up her voice, and Erik made certain his fingers would properly cooperate with him as he accompanied the song on the piano. Raoul had been quiet all evening, and she didn't understand why.  
  
"I think that my daughter could very well do without the publicity of being a great singer." He said quietly. "I'm looking forward to hearing her sing, though. If she does even half so well as her mother, she'll have us squirming in our seats with elation."  
  
"You're practically a poet." Isabelle laughed softly, and turned to watch as her husband spoke to Katherine in low tones. He was dressed resplendently, as they all would be for that concert. In black slacks and a dark maroon overcoat, he leaned over the keys to say something to his pupil in a low voice, his eyes twinkling with mischief.  
  
Katherine laughed at whatever he whispered to her, covering her mouth quickly to stifle the bell like sound. She was dressed beautifully as well, in a bright crimson dress with gold on the cuffs, collar, and hem. A small piece of holly at the waist suggested that it was a Christmas party dress. The seasonal dress she chose to wear didn't matter, so long as it was formal.  
  
"Poetry is for dreamers." Raoul told Isabelle abruptly, breaking the woman from her thoughts. Looking up curiously, Isabelle watched Erik in his formal evening ware of black silk pants, vest, and overcoat; and white satin dress shirt. His arms were folded over his chest tightly.  
  
Isabelle herself was wearing a brilliant royal purple dress with billowing skirts, and off-the-shoulder sleeves. She wore amethyst earrings, and a matching necklace, all of which had been gifts from Erik over the years. She smoothed the fabric of the skirt impulsively as she turned to glance out into the hallway.  
  
"Charles and Lyre ought to have been here by now." She said with just a slight hint of concern. "We've been waiting half an hour."  
  
"Oh, for God's sake." Erik looked over at her from across the room. His tone hinted at annoyance, but he was laughing. "Let them be, Izzy. They're in love. They want to be alone."  
  
"And you actually think that's proper after what has already happened?" She replied back tartly. Simpering, she stepped out of the room. Of course, she almost walked right into her daughter, who stood in a satin gown of dark sapphire blue. Her auburn-red hair was pulled back into a French Twist, and she wore a necklace of sapphires and rhinestones.  
  
"Oh!" Allyriane gasped, stepping back quickly to avoid a collision. "Mother, you scared the life out of me!"  
  
Isabella ignored her exclamation, and looked into the ballroom curiously.  
  
"Where's Charles?" She asked softly. "I thought he was coming straight here from the stables. We went for a ride after supper, and then I had to change . . ."  
  
"I'm sure he just went to his room to do the same." Her mother said reassuringly. Turning to Raoul, she shrugged helplessly, and sighed. "Do you think we should send someone up to get him?"  
  
The other side of the room, which had been silent for a long minute, shot to life as Katherine came around the piano quickly.  
  
"I'll go." She offered. "It will only take a minute. If he isn't ready, I'll just throw a bucket of cold water over his head. That ought to solve all of his problems."  
  
"Kat!" Allyriane laughed softly, shaking her head as the younger girl brushed by her, and all but flew down the hallway. Moving so fast, it was nearly impossible for her to keep up a ladylike façade, but no one seemed to care, least of all Katherine herself.  
  
Making her way upstairs and towards her brothers room, Katherine hummed to herself quietly, the aria she would be performing that evening before singing the duet with Erik. She'd finally convinced him only an hour earlier that she wanted him to sing with her, because she liked his voice so much. She stopped humming before reaching the door to her brothers' room, however, so that he would not have a single hint as to what she'd be singing that evening.  
  
"Charles?" She knocked on the door repeatedly. "Charles, are you coming or not? It's the biggest night of my life, and you just had to be late!"  
  
The door cracked open, and she saw Charles look out at her with curious eyes. Then, they widened just a bit, and he opened the door fully.  
  
"I was not aware that I was late." He announced, as the door swung open to reveal him in a scarlet colored overcoat and dark navy slacks. He really looked charming. "I've been pacing this room for nearly twenty minutes."  
  
"Oh, Charles!" Katherine scolded. "Has your clock stopped again? I really will have to talk to one of the servants about that!"  
  
"No, no." He admitted softly. "It wasn't the clock. It's entirely my fault. I didn't even look at the time."  
  
"Oh . . ." Katherine offered a playful pout, lowering her voice into a tone usually used for baby talk. "Is big brother distracted?"  
  
"Most definitely distracted." He laughed softly, putting an arm around her, and kissing her temple. "Come, I'm anxious to hear you sing."  
  
"And sit next to Lyre." Katherine prompted, sticking her tongue out at him childishly. They both laughed aloud at that, starting down the stairs that would take them to the temporary concert hall.  
  
@-}-- @-}-- @-}-- @-}-- @-}-- @-}-- @-}-- @-}--  
  
"Well?"  
  
Katherine looked about at her small audience, holding her breath nervously. Her aria from 'Don Juan Triumphant' had been over for several minutes, and so far no one had even moved. Turning to Erik, she gave him an imploring gaze.  
  
"Was I not good?" She wondered aloud.  
  
"That isn't it at all." Raoul finally stood, walking over to take one of her hands, and kiss it gently. "You were wonderful. We're amazed." He stared over her shoulder at Erik. "For all the times you mentioned the opera, I never recognized the name. The aria, however, I do know. Christine sang it once."  
  
Everyone seemed startled to learn that, except for Erik of course. He slowly stood and approached Katherine's other side. Gently, he put one hand on her shoulder. The girl looked up at him in confusion.  
  
"There is a reason I said the role could only be sung by you, or your mother." He said calmly. "Yes, Christine sang it once. Now, I've passed it onto your daughter."  
  
Raoul glared at him in silence for a long moment.  
  
"I think you and I have a long talk ahead of us." He finally noted, before turning away as though angry. Charles cleared his throat quickly, standing to approach his sister, and hug her gently.  
  
"You were wonderful." He said gently. "Miraculous, really. I think that Monsieur Erik has outdone himself."  
  
"It wasn't anything that I did." Erik said quickly. "Your sister has natural talent. I only helped her to prove that to everyone."  
  
Everyone laughed, except for Raoul. He stood with his back to all of them, staring out of a set of doors, which led out onto an open terrace. Slowly, Erik moved to take Charles' place in the chair he'd just occupied, and took his wife's hand gently, bringing it to his lips and smiling at her. Isabelle smiled back, and they began their own, quiet conversation.  
  
Charles finally turned away from his sister to smile down at Allyriane, who had been sitting in silence this whole time. Her eyes were wide with wonder at what she'd just heard. It had been the first time she'd ever had the chance to hear her fathers' opera, and she was still coming down from the strange ecstasy the music had brought her to. Bowing slightly, he offered his hand.  
  
"Will you walk on the terrace with me, Lyre?" He asked her in a quiet voice. With a broadening smile, Allyriane stood, accepting his hand and moving with him towards Raoul, and the set of doors he stared through. The Comte quickly moved out of their way as they stepped out into the privacy of the night.  
  
"Your sister was amazing!" Allyriane finally exclaimed as she stepped out onto the terrace with Charles. "I didn't know people had voices like that! It was surreal!"  
  
"You aren't so bad yourself." Charles chuckled. "How could you not know that people could sing like that? With your father having a voice like his, you'd have to know it was possible."  
  
"My father is a bit different." She laughed softly. "He has so many talents, it's heard being blown away by just one of them. Besides, I think I'm a bit biased, being his daughter."  
  
"You aren't biased. You just know raw talent when you see it." Turning, he lifted her left hand in his, as though to take a look at her in the moonlight. "Would you say that I was biased if I told you that you are a goddess? That you're the most beautiful woman that I've ever known?"  
  
"It depends." She blushed beautifully at his compliment. "You'd have to be in a certain relationship in order to be biased, I think. You'd have to be in a certain position. What position are you in, Charles?"  
  
"On what grounds am I biased?" He echoed, smiling. "Well . . . if you would accept this . . ."  
  
He quickly fished a small object out of his vest pocket, and slipped it onto the fourth finger of the hand he'd been holding up the past minute. Allyriane immediately gasped, feeling the cool metal about her digit, and stared down at a petite gold ring, with a medium sized gem. It sparkled beautifully, even in the dim yellow moonlight. Lifting her gaze to his slowly, she chewed on her lower lip.  
  
"Is it a diamond?" She asked softly. Charles immediately seemed a bit uneasy, shifting his weight from one foot to the other a couple of times.  
  
"It's Austrian Crystal." He explained. "I would have gotten you a diamond, but -"  
  
"Oh, it doesn't matter!" She laughed. "It's beautiful, Charles! I don't care if it's a diamond, Austrian Crystal, or Rhinestone!" She reached up to take his face in her hands, and kissed him quickly, so fast that he wasn't even sure it had happened. Then, she pulled back, watching him in curiosity. "Exactly what does it mean, Charles?"  
  
"As I was going to say . . ." he pressed his forehead against hers affectionately, smiling at her in return. "I could be considered biased because I am totally in love . . . and now perhaps engaged, if you'll agree to marry me."  
  
"Charles!" Allyriane threw her arms about him tightly, all by crying from joy and excitement. "I can't believe I just heard that!"  
  
"Lyre, my dear . . ." Charles laughed, putting one arm tightly about her waist, and restraining her strangling grip about his neck by placing one hand on her elbow. "I certainly hope that is a yes."  
  
"Yes!" She pulled back, all but shouting the word. Her eyes glimmered with unshed tears of happiness, and he could tell that she could practically dance for joy at that moment. "Charles! Of course I'll marry you!"  
  
Grinning, he lifted her now bedecked hand to kiss it, and then touched her cheek tenderly. She stared up at him expectantly for a long moment, and then giggled.  
  
"Charles, it's all right if you want to kiss me." She prodded. "Believe me, I have no intention of scolding you for it!"  
  
He laughed, shaking his head at her.  
  
"I want to tell you something." He admitted softly. "I asked your father for his blessing to do this, already. We already have his blessing to be married."  
  
Allyriane smiled even wider. Her fathers' blessing had always meant everything to her, in everything she'd ever done. It was a comfort that he'd asked him first. Still, he didn't move for another couple of minutes.  
  
"You didn't tell your own father." She finally guessed, reading the slightly troubled look in his eyes.  
  
"No." Charles let out a shaky breath. "I wanted you to say yes, first."  
  
"Well, I've said yes!" She laughed. "Let's go tell him! Let's go tell everyone!"  
  
Grabbing his hand tightly, she dragged him back into the mansion ballroom. Raoul and Erik were gone, but Isabelle and Katherine stood talking together quietly. There was this light to Katherine's eyes, and it was obvious that her nervousness had finally faded away.  
  
"Mother! Look!" Allyriane rushed up to them, holding up her hand so that they could both see the ring at the same time. "Charles has asked me to marry him!"  
  
"What?" Isabelle asked, shocked. Her eyes widened, and she looked up to the young Vicomte in bewilderment. "Already?"  
  
"It couldn't have come fast enough for me, Madame." Charles smiled at her sheepishly. "I had your husbands' blessing to ask her tonight. I hope you don't mind?"  
  
"No!" She laughed, shaking her head quickly. "No, I don't mind at all, Charles. It's just such a shock . . ."  
  
Katherine had already seized Allyriane's hand, and was inspecting the ring closely. She obviously approved of the stone, even though she couldn't have known it wasn't a diamond.  
  
"Oh, Lyre!" She couldn't help but squeal excitedly. "This means we'll be sisters! This is wonderful!"  
  
"Isn't it?" Allyriane agreed, smiling. After a moment, she looked about. "Where are father and Monsieur Raoul?"  
  
"They stepped out into the hall." Isabelle frowned slightly, looking over her shoulder. "The Comte, apparently, had some words to exchange with your father. I wonder what could be wrong. He didn't seem very pleased."  
  
"Oh lord . . ." Charles grumbled, turning to his fiancée, rolling his eyes in annoyance. "Excuse me, my dearest. I think I'd better check in on them, before my father does something foolish."  
  
Turning, he walked from the room quickly, not realizing he was being followed by all three of the women. Just out in the hallway, Raoul was speaking in a low, furious voice to Erik, standing face-to-face with the other man. Erik seemed quite calm, by all outer appearances. As the Comte stood in his face, he merely watched him, and let the other man vent out his fury.  
  
" . . . Would have gladly finished you years ago had I known then!"  
  
Neither man noticed that their families had gathered nearby, watching them. Erik took in a long, deep breath, and then shook his head as though listening to a naughty child rant.  
  
"You didn't know then because Christine didn't wish you to know." He stated. "Do you actually think I have old scores to settle with you? If that were so, Christine wouldn't have let me remain in your lives. She would've let you run away with her. Not because she feared me, mind you, but simply to protect you. I have no scores to settle. She made her choice, and I accepted it. As you can see, I have made a life of my own, without her. I'm not here because of you, Monsieur le Comte. Coincidence drew us back together, through no fault of mine."  
  
"No fault of yours!" Raoul spat scornfully. "Everything that you've ever done has to try and take something from me!"  
  
"I didn't ask Charles and Allyriane to meet in school."  
  
"You knew he was going to that school!" Raoul accused.  
  
"Father?"  
  
Raoul whirled to see Charles standing there, one arm about Allyriane's waist. Just behind him stood Katherine and Isabelle, watching the two men with total incomprehension. Erik didn't look phased by their presence, even though he hadn't known they were there until Charles spoke up. He tugged on the ends of his overcoat as though to pull out wrinkles caused by a fight, and walked towards them a few feet.  
  
"Father? What is going on?" Charles demanded. "What kind of trouble are you trying to cause now? What is this all about?"  
  
"Nothing." Erik said quietly, looking over his daughter momentarily, eyes filled with tenderness. "Oh . . . Lyre . . . what a beautiful ring."  
  
Allyriane immediately forgot the scene she'd just witnessed, and stepped towards her father so that he might get a closer look at the beautiful stone she had on her finger. She smiled at him brilliantly. Even though Erik had already seen the ring that morning, he made it look as though he were inspecting it for the first time. He knew it would make her happy if he made a big deal out of it.  
  
"Father, I said yes." She told him, grinning almost foolishly.  
  
Raoul approached, purposefully keeping out of arms reach of Erik. He too looked at the ring on Allyriane's finger, before lifting his eyes to Charles.  
  
"You did this without consulting me?" His tone was accusing, scolding. Charles stared at his father in shock. He'd never imagined Raoul being so opposing to his proposal to her. He had seemed to be approving of their relationship the past couple of weeks. "How dare you, Charles! You had no right!"  
  
"I had every right!" Charles countered quickly. "I have a right to ask the young woman I love to marry me!"  
  
"Not considering who her father is!" Raoul said before he'd even thought about the consequences. Erik turned to glare at him, his eyes murderously furious. Yet he still seemed calm otherwise.  
  
"Does it matter?" He challenged in a low voice. "Monsieur le Comte, this is not about Charles asking the daughter of Erik Génie to marry him. Their romance has nothing to do with who their parents are."  
  
"That, Monsieur, I shall never believe!" Raoul was still adamant, and Allyriane was starting to look between the two men with tears standing in her eyes. Charles, seeing her confusion and hurt, put both of his arms around her, shielding her the only way he knew how.  
  
"Who is he?" Katherine asked from behind the young couple, just as confused. Raoul opened his mouth, yet Erik held up a hand that silenced him immediately. Erik still had that power, that presence.  
  
"Your father has been mislead about my identity for a great many years." He told her softly. "It was a harmless lie which I thought would not disturb the relationship your brother has formed with my daughter. Apparently, however, he assumes that simply because I am . . . who I am . . . That my daughter is somehow condemned for being related to me."  
  
He turned back to Raoul with narrowed eyes.  
  
"I am not the man I was twenty years ago." He told him in a low, dangerous voice. "I have not once harmed another soul. Not once. I have played no tricks on anyone. I have not killed, or even deliberately brought someone pain. The mistakes I made in years past have been left in the past."  
  
"Father, I don't understand." Allyriane insisted, moving to take his arm pleadingly. "Who are you?"  
  
"A fiendish monster!" Raoul burst out. "A murderer!"  
  
"Father!" Charles exclaimed. "He doesn't have a violent bone in his body . . . as long as he isn't provoked!"  
  
"Ah, well then I guess plenty provoked him when he wanted your mother!" Raoul exclaimed, not caring anymore what harm his words did to the families involved. "It's only because of your mother that I'm alive today! This man was going to kill me!"  
  
"Yes." Erik finally murmured. "Which you never did thank her for. I will not deny the things I did. I think my family would understand if I were able to explain everything to them. I can't, however. I don't even understand it all myself. Least of all the reason I look as I do today."  
  
"Papa . . ."  
  
"Get out of my house." Raoul growled at Erik threateningly. "Get away from my family! Take your Opera with you! Take your family with you! Get out!"  
  
"Father!" Charles shouted again, now just as angry as Raoul as he and Erik were at one another.  
  
"You mean to steal love from someone else?" Erik asked, incredulous. "Monsieur, before you say another word, I suggest you remember what it felt like to have the woman you love torn from your arms by a man filled with rage and jealousy!"  
  
Raoul flinched for the first time. He looked briefly towards his son, who still had his arms tightly about Allyriane's waist. There was a very long moment of silence, before he turned back to Erik. Slowly, he moved closer to his age-old enemy, and pointed an accusing finger at him.  
  
"You will leave my home tonight." He hissed. "Take everything with you. Take your wife with you. I never want to see you again. I never want to hear from you again. I never want you near my son or daughter again."  
  
Erik glanced towards Allyriane. Then, he turned back to Raoul.  
  
"If he is to be my son-in-law, I don't see how I can keep from being near him when I visit my daughter, or they come to visit me."  
  
"If you want them to be happy with one another, you will simply give her up. You did it once, I think you can give up someone else now."  
  
"Father!" Charles pleaded. "I don't understand what's going on, but you're being ridiculous! Forbidding a man to see his daughter! How would you feel if someone told you that you could not see Kat!"  
  
"This isn't about Kat!" Raoul spat.  
  
"But it could be!" Charles countered. "Think about it, Father!"  
  
"Enough." Erik said in a quiet, subdued voice. Somehow, his word still had the power to make everyone grow still. "I will leave, if you do not forbid my wife from keeping in contact with Lyre. If they ever have children, I will have just as much right to see their babies as you will."  
  
"Don't you ever touch another member of my family again." Raoul demanded. "You will not speak to my family, including my son. You will not come in any contact with him. What your daughter does, I could care less, as long as you do not lay a finger on any children my son has with her."  
  
"That is our business." Charles said quickly. "Monsieur, you have every right to see your grandchildren. As I said . . .I don't know what this is about . . . but you have never done harm to me, or my sister. We will visit you in Boston. Besides . . . Lyre and I will still be finishing school next year. We should remain engaged until after that time. She'll remain with you until we're married, as any proper couple would not live with one another until after they are wed."  
  
"Charles, how dare you make that decision!" Raoul stared at his son; amazed he'd be so defiant.  
  
"Father, if you say another word about what I dare do, you had better be prepared to say good-bye." Charles warned. "I won't have Katherine living under these conditions. I won't see my own sister tortured by your hatred for my fiancée's family. Not when she loves them as dearly as I do! She will go with me this time, no matter what you say, if you are going to continue tearing us apart with your anger!"  
  
Raoul stared at him still, paling. He seemed to be drained of his intense hatred. The threat had hit him hard. Katherine moved up to Charles, and put an arm about him and Allyriane gently. They both held her in return. Then, Charles looked to Isabelle, who stepped up beside them.  
  
"You're finally learning the thing I did so many years ago." Erik sighed. "You cannot control people with anger and hatred. You will lose it all if you try. But you haven't lost it yet."  
  
He looked to his wife and daughter.  
  
"I am going to leave tonight, as Monsieur insists." He told them. "It is only a few hours earlier than I was meant to leave anyway. Stay for the rest of the summer. Enjoy yourselves." He looked to Charles. "If your father should cause any pain to them . . . please bring them home to me. I'd rather you enjoy happiness than torment."  
  
"Thank you, Monsieur." Charles said hoarsely. "I think I'll see you off." Kissing Allyriane's temple briefly, he released her, and Katherine, and followed Erik upstairs without looking back.  
  
@-}-- @-}-- @-}-- @-}-- @-}-- @-}-- @-}-- @-}-  
  
"I chose to have your sister sing the aria from my opera because I thought it was time your father finally know the truth about who I really was." Erik explained once they were alone. "Don't ask me to tell you. The story really is quite unbelievable, even to myself."  
  
"Whatever happened in the past, Monsieur, is none of my business." Charles offered. "What matters to me now, is the future. My father is a stubborn man, I know. But I will not let his stubbornness tear us all apart."  
  
"Thank God for small favors." Erik sighed. "Lyre would be heartbroken without you."  
  
"She'd be completely lost without her father, too." Charles countered. "Thank you for not taking out your past with my father on me. I love Lyre so much."  
  
"That is why I did not keep her from seeing you." Erik strained to smile. "I know that it will be unlikely you could let go of your father, just as it would be hard for Lyre to release her own family. Do not feel obligated to choose between us. This has nothing to do with our argument. This is between Lyre and yourself."  
  
"I think I understand."  
  
"No, I don't think you do. Not yet." Erik had finished packing his belongings, and picked them up. "You will someday. Just don't let the things your father says prevent you from loving Lyre."  
  
"I won't. Nothing could keep me from loving her."  
  
"Good." Nodding, Erik reached out to touch his shoulder. "You've got a good head on your shoulders. You're a good kid. Take care of yourself, and of my daughter."  
  
"You know I will, Monsieur." Charles smiled. "I'd never harm Lyre." 


	13. Chapter Thirteen

When Erik stepped out into the hallway, luggage in hand, he found his daughter staring up at him from her guest bedroom, still fully dressed. It was midnight. He'd wished to wait until Raoul would probably be asleep, to walk through the hallways to the car waiting to bring him to the train station. Another fight would result in someone being harmed, and although Erik was confident it wouldn't have been him, he didn't think that it would help his wife or the three 'children' to see it. Still, he couldn't escape the notice of his own daughter. She had apparently been standing in her own doorway for a long time. Behind her, Isabelle had fallen asleep in a chair by a small fireplace where the logs had died down into glowing embers.  
  
"Papa . . . you should take Mama with you." She murmured quietly, stepping out into the hallway, and closing her door behind you. "She hasn't been away from you for a single night since you've been married. She can't wake up without you here."  
  
Erik sighed, shaking his head, and putting down his luggage. Motioning her closer, he put both arms tenderly about her.  
  
"Let her sleep, ma petite." He told her gently. "This night has been a shock for everyone. Even I hadn't expected it to get so heated."  
  
"Why is he being so hateful?" She whispered, leaning her head on his shoulder. Even Allyriane had never been away from her parents for a night - with the single exception of the short stay she had in the hospital. Even then, one of her parents had seemed to be with her the entire time. "Why can't he let go of something that happened a hundred years ago?"  
  
"I've a shady past, Cherie." He admitted somberly. "I wasn't always the pleasant businessman you've watched your whole life. If I told you everything, perhaps you wouldn't want me near you either."  
  
"I don't care about your past." She said fiercely. "You never hurt Mama, or me."  
  
"No." He smiled gently, taking her by the shoulders to separate them a bit. "I've never hurt you. But I haven't been through . . . certain situations . . . with you or your Mama. With Monsieur le Comte, it's quite a different matter. I might not have been young, as is stereotypically seen of the hot-blooded, but I did have a temper on me. I suppose being a husband and father has taught me how to control it."  
  
"Papa, you never once had even a glimmer of a temper, for as long as I've known you." She didn't pick up on his mentioning being older than the Comte.  
  
"But these past twenty years haven't been absolutely lonely and miserable. My existence has not once been threatened." Sighing, he shook his head. "I'm sorry, ma fille précieuse. If I could explain everything to you . . ."  
  
"Maybe some day, in the future." Allyriane could tell that her fathers' secret, all but bare to her now, was hurting him. She could see he wanted to tell her everything, but was afraid to. She couldn't say that she blamed him. Some secrets were better left in shadow. Maybe she wasn't ready to hear it yet. For a man who'd always been very honest with her, and never once lied, she wasn't certain she suddenly wanted to know the whole truth, which had simply never been spoken.  
  
"Perhaps." He agreed, amazed at her intellect, the insight she always seemed to have in reading his emotions and thoughts. "Ma petite . . ."  
  
"Mama and I will come home by Saturday." She said quickly, leaning up to kiss his cheek. "I've already spoken with Charles. It's best if we keep away from Monsieur le Comte. I just don't want to leave tonight and leave Katherine high and dry with only her brother here to try and explain that this doesn't mean we're not going to be part of her family."  
  
Erik chuckled, shaking his head.  
  
"You should invite her to stay with us some time." He offered. "I know that Raoul isn't exactly keen on us being part of his or his daughters family, but still . . . he can't exactly prevent it."  
  
"Nothing can prevent me marrying Charles now." She said strongly.  
  
There was a long, tense silence, and then she abruptly put her arms around him again, holding onto him as though she were once more a small child, frightened of the darkness surrounding her. It startled Erik, but he caught her easily, and caressed her hair gently, his long fingers almost not touching her at all. Slowly, the pressure grew, and he pressed his cheek to the top of her head. One thing she had not inherited from him was height. She was such a tiny creature.  
  
"Avez-vous peur d'être sans votre père?" He crooned, voice half- teasing. "You know that you'll never be without me, Mon petite."  
  
"Quand j'épouse Charles, il sera différent." She responded.  
  
"Ah, but when you marry Charles, then he will be your protector." He chuckled again. "Don't be afraid of being without your father, because I'm always going to be there. Even when it seems that I'm not. And I trust Charles. I trust him enough to place you in his care. You will have two of us to watch over you."  
  
"Papa, stay." She breathed. "Monsieur Raoul needn't know you were here the whole night. He sleeps in so late; that you can leave at the time you had planned to in the morning. He'd never know."  
  
"That's not true." Erik replied gently. "Please, Lyre. I'm just going to stay in the hotel in the city, until my train leaves. I won't be far until then. It won't be any different. You'll see. A few hours will make no difference at all."  
  
"Yes it will. Charles' father has made you leave early. I can't forget the difference."  
  
"Lyre, be calm." Erik ordered in one of his trance-inducing voices. She stared up at him blankly for a moment, and then blinked in confusion. Smiling, he touched her cheek. "It's only a few days. Charles is here to take care of you, and your mother. Besides, I want you to stay. I'm sure Raoul will poison your ear with all the things you want to know about my sordid past. Just know that you'll hear my side when you come home. I want you to hear both of our stories."  
  
"You want me to hear his lies?"  
  
"Not lies." Erik admitted gently. "His views, and a few misconceptions, but not lies."  
  
"Then why does he hate you so much? What did you do to one another?"  
  
"He hates me because I loved the same woman he did. He hates me because I was insane with jealousy and bitterness; literally insane. Perhaps it isn't even hatred. Maybe it is fear that I can still cause just as much damage as I did back then. I was the type of man that took what I wanted, destroying anything and anyone that got in my way. Charles' father was one of those obstacles, but the woman we shared love for saved his life, and she saved me from my insanity. He doesn't know how I've healed these past years."  
  
"Papa, I don't -"  
  
"I know you don't understand." He soothed. "Please, Lyre, go into your room, and go to bed. Take care of your mother until you come home later this week. Whatever you do, all I ask is that you remember to come back home so that you can hear my side. I'm sure he'll manage to convince you about what a beast I was."  
  
"That is past tense." She stated. "You are no beast."  
  
Laughing, he kissed her temple, and leaned down to pick up his luggage.  
  
"Lyre . . . Go to bed."  
  
"Bonne nuit, Papa." She sighed, hugging him again briefly. Then, before tears overwhelmed her, she slipped into her room, and locked the door behind her.  
  
"Bonne nuit . . ." He whispered to the closed door, and walked down the hall.  
  
@-}-- @-}-- @-}-- @-}-- @-}-- @-}-- @-}-- @-}--  
  
When Charles moved into his fathers' study, the Comte was already sipping at a strong brandy. He'd never been a drunk of any sort in the past, but he looked like it in the early morning sunshine. The light reflected through the crystal glass, making the amber liquid shine like the sun right into Charles' eyes.  
  
"If I'd spoken to you last night, I may have resorted to blows." Charles said quietly. "Isabelle and Lyre were inconsolable after the way you behaved. Tell me what exactly happened last night."  
  
Raoul looked up at his son, then to his glass of brandy. He stared at it for a long moment, watching the light change as she turned the crystal slightly in his hand. Finally, he took one more sip, sighed, and stood. Placing the glass aside, he moved over to a hidden safe that Charles had always assumed held small treasures, like the deed to the house, and perhaps his mothers' wedding ring.  
  
His father surprised him by pulling out two books. One was a large, square book bound by burgundy leather. The other was of smaller, rectangular shape, but it was thicker. Bound in blue, there was no title on the spine or covers. He opened it to see a strange title written in French. Translating to English in his head, he glanced to his father.  
  
"Phantom of the Opera?" He echoed.  
  
"It was written by some silly author." Raoul said, waving one hand dismissively. "The book is rubbish, mostly. But there are a great many facts entwined in the little ghost story; things that really happened. Read all of this, son. In the articles you read in my scrap book, change the names of the Opera Ghost and Phantom of the Opera to the name Erik."  
  
"You have to be joking." Charles laughed nervously. His father, however, had never looked more serious in his life.  
  
Charles was a very fast reader. Sitting down behind the desk to his fathers study, he first shifted through the articles in the scrapbook. They were all articles from Paris newspapers, but Charles was, of course, fluent in French. One of the articles stood out to him.  
  
TWO HUNDRED KILOS ON THE HEAD OF A CONCIERGE  
  
The article told about the disaster that had occurred in the Opera House. Apparently, the chandelier had fallen, and the staff at the Opera blamed someone called "The Opera Ghost". More than just a concierge had died. More than sixty people had either died or been badly injured. Others were left traumatized. It seemed preposterous to Charles that they could blame a fairy tale on such accidents . . . But then he skimmed briefly through the novel. His father was right; most of the story was utter rubbish. Still, names stood out. The names of Christine Daaé, Raoul Vicomte de Chagney were constantly mentioned. Apparently, they were the main characters. Then, of course, the name Erik popped up to the surface as well.  
  
The only part of the book he read straight through was the narrative of the Persian, as the author Gaston Leroux had written it. The book seemed almost brand new to him. Yet the date of the publication was some seven years old. When he had finished, he looked up at his father, who had come in and out over the past couple of hours. It seemed that Isabelle and Allyriane had not come down from their rooms yet.  
  
"This has got to be some sort of elaborate hoax." Charles insisted almost immediately.  
  
"Everything you have read happened, at least to some extent." Raoul stated. "Sometimes it was even worse. Erik Génie is the Phantom of the Opera. He changed his face somehow. I don't know how . . . but he did. Charles, listen to me. This man does not deny who he is. He confessed it to me last night!"  
  
"All right." Charles sighed. "So the man did horrible things in his past. He didn't deny that last night, either. Apparently he changed his ways. For heaven's sake, Father, you yourself told me that Christine was very good friends with him after the whole tragic affair. Why hate him now?"  
  
Raoul came across the room, sitting down with a heavy sigh across from his son.  
  
"Charles . . . do you remember when your mother died?"  
  
"Vaguely . . ." He admitted uncertainly. "After mama gave birth to Kat, she had some fever."  
  
"It was an illness that progressed through her pregnancy." Raoul corrected. "Yet she did have an infection after the birth, and it caused a fever. She was delirious right up until the point when she died." He was slowly curling his hands into fists. "Would you like to know the man she was calling for on her death bed? Would you like to know the man she spoke to? It wasn't me! Not her own husband!"  
  
Charles stared at him for a long moment, and then sighed, shaking his head.  
  
"Father, you can't really think she was calling for him as if she wanted him there because she was dying." He chuckled. "She was delirious, Papa. Maybe she was reliving those days. Maybe . . . maybe she felt guilty for what happened back then, even though they'd become friends afterwards. Hell, maybe she even loved him to some extent that she wouldn't admit so that she couldn't hurt you. But it certainly isn't his fault."  
  
Raoul ground his teeth together.  
  
"You don't understand. Anything could have happened between them. He is a master manipulator. I saw him work his magic on her while he was still the Opera Ghost."  
  
"Father, enough!" Charles stood, angry now. "The man is going to be my father-in-law. His daughter is going to be Katherine's sister-in-law. His daughter is going to be my wife! They are my family! Now I'm not asking you to like Erik. I'm not even asking you to get along with him - except on our wedding day, for I want all of you there, just as Lyre will. I am only asking you to accept it."  
  
Raoul stood as well, his own temper flaring.  
  
"If I don't?" He challenged. Charles sighed.  
  
"Then to Hell with you." He stated. "I don't need you, to be happy, father. I've spent enough of my lifetime away from you, even avoiding you. Why should I need you now? Understand this, though, father. Katherine loves them dearly. I shall not let you rob her of them."  
  
Walking around the desk, he paused to pick up the ridiculous novel he'd just skimmed, and walked out of the study with it, leaving his father behind.  
  
@-}-- @-}-- @-}-- @-}-- @-}-- @-}-- @-}-- @-}--  
  
When Allyriane opened the door to the room she'd been staying in, she looked out at Charles as he stood in the doorway. She was wide-awake, yet she'd yet to dress or comb her hair. She blushed in embarrassment to be seen in such a state, and started to slam the door.  
  
"Just a moment!" She entreated just before the door nearly clipped off his nose. Charles chuckled, shaking his head, and waited patiently until she came out ten minutes later, dressed, with her hair hastily combed through.  
  
"Did you sleep all right?" He asked in concern, seeing the slight blotches under her eyes. "Last night was not pretty."  
  
"Oh, I stayed up most of the night trying to make sure mama slept." She admitted. "I also waited up to say good-bye to my father when he left."  
  
"I want to apologize for everything that happened." Charles began. Yet she held up her hand.  
  
"Never mind it." She assured him. "I spoke to my father about the - about your fathers' behavior. I think I understand. Men feuding over the same woman can be hectic. We saw what it was like for a woman wanting to harm another for want of a man."  
  
She was speaking, of course, about how she'd been attacked through the influence of the little wench who had wanted Charles so badly. Still, this wasn't about that. This was about their fathers. Charles was astonished to find out that she already knew vaguely what had happened in the past. Still . . . He looked down at the book in his hand, and held it up to her.  
  
"I thought this might interest you." He said softly. "This is fictionalized, but my father says it's about what happened all those years ago. The Erik in this book is your father."  
  
"Someone actually wrote about a love triangle?" She chuckled.  
  
"No." He contradicted quickly. "This is a horror story, my dear. Now I don't expect you to believe a shred of this. I don't believe much of it. Yet your father made no attempt last night to deny who and what he once was."  
  
Allyriane reached out to take the book, but he pulled it out of her grasp briefly. She stared up at him, their eyes meeting squarely.  
  
"This doesn't affect anything." He told her sternly. "I still love you. I still respect and care about your father. My father is the only one with changed views about your family."  
  
Slowly nodding, she took the book at last.  
  
"I'll read this later." She promised. "Right now, perhaps I should get my mother out of bed."  
  
"I'll have a maid bring her some tea." Charles offered quickly. Allyriane smiled in thanks. "Are . . . are you still leaving at the end of the week?"  
  
"Yes." She announced. "I promised Papa that we would, when he left last night. You're welcome to join us. You and Katherine are both more than welcome to visit whenever you please."  
  
"I'll consider that, and speak to my sister about it." He smiled.  
  
"I need to speak to her about what happened." She sighed. "I hope she can understand."  
  
"Lyre -" He reached out, stopping the door from closing completely. She peeked back out at him. "Read the book before you speak to her. Please?"  
  
Not understanding, she blinked several times. Yet finally, she nodded.  
  
"Alright." She promised. "Thank you, Charles. I'll come down before lunch." 


	14. Chapter Fourteen

A/N Because it's going to be a while before I figure out how to continue, please forgive me for making this chapter so INCREDIBLY short!  
  
BTW - any guesses as to who these ladies are? Like it's really that hard!  
  
@--}---  
  
The building wasn't half as nice as the two women wandering the hallways had expected it to be. Yet they weren't in the least bit disappointed. Both struggled with large suitcases, and one heavy trunk of luggage. Both wore large-brimmed hats that had shielded their ebony- stranded heads from the heat of the summer sun, and gauze dresses each of similar style. One of the girls, with sparkling green eyes and anxiousness to each movement that bellied her age, wore a pale violet color. The other woman, who looked much the same, but had a more defined nose because of a riding accident that had once broken it when she was a teenager, wore a dark blue dress with some white lace on it.  
  
"I certainly hope we have the right place." The one dressed in red said to her companion in French. "I almost think that this city is larger than Paris."  
  
The other woman chuckled silently, shaking her head at her friend. When they finally reached an office door towards the back of the building, both set down their heavy burden, straightened out their dresses, and simultaneously went to knock. Stopping, they gave each other a long look, and then both laughed. Finally, the one in pale violet continued onwards to knock, and they both stood back.  
  
A few moments later, a rather large-boned woman with azure eyes and graying golden hair opened the door to look out at them. She seemed a woman about to reach her fifties, who wore a deep green dress of surprisingly thick material for the stuffiness of the building.  
  
"Can I help you?" The woman asked patiently, giving them a soft smile. Behind her, an older gentleman was sitting at a desk doing paperwork, apparently oblivious to anything happening around him. The two ladies in the hallway looked at each other again, as though in confusion. Finally, the one in red straightened her shoulders and turned back to the woman.  
  
"Nous recherchons Monsieur Erik Genie." She announced quietly. Finally, after a pause and a look of confusion from the elder woman before her, she cleared her throat anxiously. "Erik Genie? Here? Veuillez m'excuser. My English . . . it is not all good."  
  
"Mr. Genie? Our resident?" The woman replied, comprehension finally dawning on her. She shook her head quickly. "No. Not here. He is gone away. He is due to come back today."  
  
Both women just stared at her in utter confusion. It was obvious their English was more than not very good. Sighing, the woman stepped out of the door and motioned them inside. She quickly led them over to a slate board on which had been drawn a calendar for the month. She looked back at them, pointing to a past date.  
  
"Erik Genie gone." She explained simply. "Come back, today." She then pointed to the present date, and motioned to the floor as though to mean 'now' or 'here'. Finally, the women seemed to brighten. One began speaking anxiously in French to the other, and the other motioned wildly about her in excitement before they finally embraced with relief and happiness. "Pardon, ladies . . ."  
  
The women looked up to her.  
  
"Where are you staying?" The woman pointed towards the younger ladies bags out in the hallway, and then made a shrugging gesture. Once more, the younger women exchanged a look. Finally, one motioned upstairs, and the other nodded eagerly.  
  
"Monsieur Genie. With Monsieur Genie." She said quickly. "He . . . back today? When?"  
  
The older girl turned to look at the clock uncertainly. Finally, she held up four fingers.  
  
"Four o'clock, I'd say." Was her reply. "He left the city. His train should be back around three-thirty. Does he know you're coming?"  
  
@--}--- @--}--- @--}--- @--}--- @--}--- @--}--- @--}--- @--}---  
  
Erik did not want to get off of the train as it pulled to a stop. It had been a long and peaceful ride. Yet when he got home, he'd be shrouded in silence. There would be no small sounds of breathing coming from the other room, which he'd grown so accustomed to having Isabelle constantly at his side for so many years. She'd always been home when he wasn't at his offices. This day was going to be a far cry different. He wasn't prepared to sleep alone in that comfortably large bed. It would seem huge without the presence of his wife at his side. And what about his daughter? He really was beginning to wonder why he hadn't allowed them to come along! 


	15. Chapter Fifteen

He wandered slowly through the lobby of the station, searching for his baggage tossed amidst the rest of the passenger's belongings. He did not look up at anyone he passed, or at his surroundings. Erik already knew plenty well how plain the architecture was. Yet because he didn't look up, he did not see the two young women standing near the numerous entrances, which led out onto the street. Sighing heavily, he leaned down to pick up a black leather bag, which had his tag attached to it.  
  
"Papa!"  
  
For a moment, he ignored the single word, not making the connection with the voice.  
  
"Papa Erik! Papa!"  
  
He stood straight so suddenly his back almost hurt, and he whirled to see the two young women coming towards him, silhouetted by the brilliant sunlight shining in from the doorways. He recognized each by their subtle differences, and their dresses. They were often recognizable by which colors they wore. Fleur liked green, blue, and purple. Marguerite adored her Red, white, black, and unfortunately blue. Still, had they both been wearing blue, he'd have known them immediately.  
  
"My angels!" he gasped, dropping his bag from shock, and opening his arms to them. He felt as though he'd been thrust back in time, and he was again crouching down on the sidewalk to catch the two little ones launching themselves at him. Yet immediately, he brought himself back to the present. The girls put their arms around him, and set to kissing his face as though those many years had yet to pass.  
  
"Papa!" Marguerite sighed, kissing his cheek joyfully. "We are so lucky that you came home today! We just came off of the boat this very day!"  
  
He had barely heard the words they spoke. His arms were tight about their waists as he held them, feeling as though their affection was a battering ram against all the walls he'd kept up since the night of his daughters masquerade. He'd wept for his daughter, yet had never let all of his emotions run free. He had yet to let himself be truly afraid that perhaps Raoul was about to turn his wife and daughter completely against him. He'd yet to admit to himself that there was at least some small chance that he'd never see them again. Holding onto these two younger ladies, as dear to him as his own daughter, he felt as though they were stripping him of all his final defenses. Still, since he was about to go home alone, he felt like they were a gift from God.  
  
"My darlings . . ." he murmured gently, backing away from them to lightly caress one white cheek each. "You're a sight for weary and sore eyes. Come. I must take you to supper!"  
  
"Oh, Papa! You look so tired!" Marguerite glanced at Fleur, who was using her sign language frantically. Erik might have helped her learn the hand signals, but she was going so fast she'd be amazed if he could follow her. "Fleur! Let him relax a moment! We'll tell him everything when we get back to his apartment! Let's go, Papa. We don't need any great big supper. Let's just go back to your home, and you can rest. We've so much to tell you!"  
  
"Yes?" He asked softly. "I have things to tell you as well. Not all of it very pleasant."  
  
"No?" Marguerite looked concerned, immediately. "Is my little sister all right?" Fleur elbowed her, and Marguerite cleared her throat. "I mean - our little sister?"  
  
Erik smiled at them wearily. Sighing, he again picked up his luggage.  
  
"Come. I'll tell you somewhere more private." 


	16. Chapter Sixteen

Stepping into the dining room late in the evening, Charles wasn't entirely surprised to see that Allyriane had chosen not to attend supper. Isabelle, her mother, however, was already sitting in a brilliant dress of emerald green silk, her hair pulled back into a French twist. There was little conversation going on as Charles began to seat himself, but how could Isabelle and Raoul carry on a very civil conversation when there was a shadow of a man sitting between them? Looking across from him, Charles managed to smile gently to his sister, who nodded simply in return.  
  
"What are we having tonight?" He asked aloud, attempting to break the silence. No one said anything in reply, but continued nibbling at their meals. Finally, Charles looked directly to his future mother-in-law. "Is Lyre all right, Madame?"  
  
"She'll be just fine, Charles." Isabella said quickly, as though attempting to reassure him of the fact. "She told me she wasn't very hungry. She's been reading all day and her eyes are tired, so she decided to remain upstairs and rest them. I was going to bring her up a plate after supper."  
  
Charles stood swiftly.  
  
"I'll bring one up to her right now, and join her." He stated. "That is, if you do not mind, Madame. I assure you I'm -"  
  
"I trust you, Charles." Isabelle interrupted, her eyes softening with tender affection. "Go ahead up if you wish. I'm sure she would enjoy the company. She's been shut up in that room all day."  
  
Charles Swiftly had a plate made for Allyriane, and he headed out of the room, having not even looked at his father the entire time. Raoul had done no better, keeping his eyes stubbornly glued to his plate until his son was out of the room. Katherine watched what happened around her without comment, but she took in every little piece of information that words and actions gave her, and she attempted to put the puzzle together that would explain this anger and hatred. With Charles barely speaking to her at the moment, she felt quite lost.  
  
@--}--- @--}--- @--}--- @--}--- @--}--- @--}--- @--}--- @--}-- -  
  
The knock on the door made Allyriane jump slightly. She'd been completely absorbed in one of the chapters of the strange little novel, having already read it six times in that half hour. It terrified her to think of the insane man with so many talents. The most terrifying idea was 'what if'. The impossible 'what if' that suggested the same insane man was her father. For the sake of Raoul's point of view, she could imagine exactly how her father would move, and the tone of his voice, the sound of him, for each dialogue which featured the character of 'Erik'. Even not believing a word of the novel, she could find it easy to be frightened of that character. When the knock occurred just as she read "And the roaring began again, louder than before. And the Viscount fired," which startled her badly.  
  
"Who is it?" She called, calming her breathing, and the pitter-patter of her thundering heart.  
  
"It's Charles, Lyre." His voice came through soft and gentle. "May I please come in? I've brought you up some supper."  
  
Sighing, she put the book aside, and went to open the door to her room. Charles stood in a soft blue evening garb, one plate in each hand, the silver utensils X-ed on the center of each plate to keep them from tumbling to the floor. Although she'd claimed not to be hungry to her mother, the very smell of the food made her stomach grumble, and she stood back to allow him in. They said nothing for a long moment, until he'd settled their meals down on the sitting room table, and noticed the book sitting on the arm of a wing-backed chair.  
  
"How is it?" He asked as she knelt on the floor beside him, and began cutting up the ham on her plate. Allyriane sighed, shaking her head and immediately put her fork down. There went her appetite.  
  
"It's the most absurd thing I've ever heard in my entire life." She stated. "Charles, you have to forgive me, but if your father is insisting that mine is this creature . . . this . . . I couldn't stay in here another night."  
  
"I can hardly blame you." Charles swallowed a mouthful of baked potato, and eyed her a long time. "If you want to go, I'll understand perfectly well, Lyre. I . . .I'll leave with you. He's just as unbearable to be near to me. I still love him. He's my father. Still . . . He's being stubborn, and hateful, and terrible."  
  
She laughed quietly, shaking her head again.  
  
"You stay here with your sister." She objected gently. "When I leave with my mother, we'll be going directly back to Boston. We can continue to keep in touch. In the meantime, perhaps we can attempt to make our fathers see reason, and make it so they can actually stand in the same room without starting a brawl."  
  
"Do you think that's ever going to happen again?" Charles snorted derisively.  
  
"I hope so. I'd like to have them there when we. . ."  
  
"When we marry." Charles finished for her, reaching up and taking one of her hands gently. "When you go, I want you to bring the book and show it to your father. Ask him questions. However insane my father seems, there must be at least some tiny grain of truth to the story. I don't believe it to any real extent, but I think something must have happened . . ."  
  
She said nothing, and turned to begin eating, forcing down each swallow of food. They spent the rest of that hour in quiet companionship, sharing no conversation or looks. It was unbearable to both of them, yet neither really knew what to say. This would have happened eventually. Perhaps it was best it was happening now.  
  
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"What? That can't be! Papa, how could that have happened?" Marguerite was so stunned; she could scarcely even stop to realize her words had been more harsh than sympathetic. "That monster! How is she? Is she going to be all right?"  
  
Erik said nothing for a long moment. He merely sat in his wing-backed chair, facing the piano and bay window in his apartment. Fleur and Marguerite both had tears standing in their eyes, and he was trying to blink back his. She hadn't meant to sound harsh, yet he still blamed himself for everything, and this had only made it even worse. A few badly chosen words had broken open his wounds.  
  
"Papa? Will Lyre be all right?"  
  
He simply stared for another second, before turning to look back at them.  
  
"I'm certain she'll be just fine." He assured them. "She's staying in New York with her mother for a few more days. You see . . . she's engaged."  
  
"Engaged?" Marguerite's gasp of excitement was enough for both her and Fleur. "Mon Dieu! That's wonderful? Who is her betrothed? Oh! That's a silly question! As though we'd know anyone from America!"  
  
Erik smirked a little bit.  
  
"Raoul and Christine de Chagney's son, Charles." He announced. "Do you remember them? I sang with Christine in the Opera."  
  
"Oh! Of course!" Marguerite grinned. "How wonderful! How on Earth did you manage to bump into one another in this place?"  
  
"They go to the same school." Erik explained simply. His eyes fixated themselves on Fleur's hands as she began speaking to him in a flurry of motion. He would often shake his head or nod, as anything she asked him needed to be answered. Finally, he reached out to take her hands and make them still. "You're asking far too much for one day, Cherie! I can't answer everything. You'll have to wait and ask Lyre that. She knows a bit more about the boy than I do."  
  
"To imagine that Lyre is in love." Marguerite sighed, shaking her head, as Erik sat back in his chair once more. "Look at us, Fleur. We're two old spinsters, and Lyre is going to be married. I can't believe that her heart managed to be stolen away from you, Papa, to any degree. Mine still hasn't!"  
  
Erik laughed for a long moment, standing to reach out and kiss her forehead for that compliment. It was true that she still had fierce remnants of a crush on him, but this was very flattering. 


	17. Chapter Seventeen

A/N - I would like to point out that the senator mentioned in this chapter WAS senator in 1910, but I know nothing of his life. Only the names of hils children and grandchildren, and his name.  
  
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"You see, Kat, our fathers' haven't been getting along, and that's why my father went home to Boston early. There are things that you couldn't understand, things I can't explain to you right now, that make your father truly hate mine. Now, if it was just a matter of them being unable to get along, I would have no problem staying here at all. Yet I feel uncomfortable near your Papa right now, so my mother and I are going to go home tonight. We miss my father very much, and we've hardly ever been separated. This just might have happened even if there had been no fight."  
  
Katherine watched Allyriane for a little bit, and simply nodded. She was being treated like a smaller child than she was, but she didn't really mind. Undoubtedly, Allyriane and Charles had their reasons for explaining things to her this way. Perhaps it was to protect her feelings. Still, she knew she was going to miss the older girl dearly.  
  
"How long until I see you again?" She finally asked quietly. "Will it be soon?"  
  
"I certainly hope so." Allyriane smiled, touching her shoulder. "Your brother has promised to take you to Boston for a visit, before school starts again." She looked to Charles with a smile, then back to Katherine, seeming to think to herself nerverously for a long moment. "Kat, there's something I would like to ask you. Will you be a brides maid at our wedding next year?"  
  
"Would I?" Katherine's eyes widened. "I would love to! Oh, thank you, Lyre!" She launched herself towards her brother's fiancee, embracing her excitedly. Laughing, Allyriane held her gently, and Charles simply put his arms about both of them. "I can't wait until next year! This is the most exciting thing I've ever been a part of!"  
  
"It's the only thing you've ever been a part of." Charles chuckled drolly.  
  
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"Mr. Genie, these plans you've drawn are nothing at all like the senator requested!" Erik's assistant and partner in his contracting firm came hurrying into the office the day after Erik's return to Boston, looking flushed and upset. "We only have a few hours until he arrives to see what you have for him! He may be a rich man, but this would cost a fortune for even his heavy purse!"  
  
Erik looked up calmly, reaching out to pluck the rolled up plans out of his partners' hand. He then simply tucked it into a small cubby hole over his shoulder, against the wall.  
  
"I see you were snooping around while I was in my meeting with the foreman of the Bailey account." He murmured softly. "This has nothing to do with the Senator's home. I created this last night. You see, my daughter was proposed to while I was away with my family. I plan on creating this home for them as a wedding gift."  
  
"Oh . . . well . . . congradulations I suppose." The assistant looked utterly embarrassed for a moment. "Still! How the devil can you possibly afford such a place?"  
  
"I am almost hoping that her fiancee's father will help with the expensives. He's a Comte from France. One of the aristocrats we have over there." Erik certainly didn't expect Raoul to ever speak to him again, never mind help him build a wedding present for Charles and Allyriane. Yet he wasn't about to tell his young assistant that he'd aquired a great wellspring of wealth over his eighty-some-odd years on this earth. No one had any idea that he was over forty-five! "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a few finishing touches to get done on the senator's town house."  
  
His assistant turned slowly, starting towards the door, then paused halfway there. He turned slowly, eyeing Erik almost cautiously.  
  
"Might I ask to see the plans?" He asked quietly. "I don't mean to insult your style or intelligence. You've known me long enough to know that. I just . . . you haven't worked with the Senator before. How do you know what he wants?"  
  
"He wants a larger version of what he has right now." Erik stated, not even looking up. "Now, if you'll excuse me, Robert, I can hardly concentrate with you constantly asking me stupid questions. I'm not in the mood to be around people right now, either. Now get going, for God's sake!"  
  
Robert sighed, and closed the office door firmly behind him as he left. He'd never seen Erik in such a foul mood. For the most part, his anger could go unnoticed. Yet when he looked up, or spoke, Robert could easily see that his partner was hardly in an accomodating mood. He remained calm and polite, but his patience was on the end of a fatally short fuse today. With two hours until the meeting, he certainly hoped he'd have calmed down by then.  
  
In his office, Erik continued scratching away at the plans for the Senator's new home, and sighed heavily. He'd left Marguerite and Fleur at the apartment that morning, with plenty of money for them to tour the city with. He hadn't liked the idea of sending them off into an unknown place completely unchaperoned, considering they hardly knew any English. Yet he really had no choice in the matter. This was a very important assignment, he was dealling with today. The senator was a close friend of the President, from what he'd been told. If the senator was impressed, he promised to tell the President about Erik. That could mean. . . just possibly . . . that he could become a millionaire in short time. If he built something for the president, he couldn't possibly imagine the reputation he'd gain. He both wanted and dreaded it.  
  
There were several things to be greatful for in a business that prospered. Erik was already well aware of the overpowering financial security he had. The business he'd run in France had been very wealthy, and he had a very large bank account to prove it. Yet there was the fortune from his past which even Isabelle was not aware of, which Erik had left to her in his will, should anything ever happen to him. Still, one could never be too secure about their financial affairs. He took risks in several stocks, and it was easy to lose a fortune in moments. If this business prospered, then he could feel even better about his accounts, and stash the money he made into his bank to sit locked away, untouched by anyone but himself or his family.  
  
Still, if the business prospered that well, it could easily steal time from his life with Isabelle, and what was left of his time with Allyriane. That, he would never be able to cope with. Although he'd had busy days or weeks, he'd never let it interfere with his personal life. Having such a sharp mind helped to ease the burden of extreme demands his clients made of him occassionally. Still, he did not want to become such a successful business man, that his tombstone read about what a great designer and architecht he'd been. He wanted it to say what a loving and devoted husband and father he'd been. That was the thing that kept his business from being a billion-dollar industry, and he damn well knew it.  
  
"Richard!" he called an hour after the first confrontation of that morning. "Come in here, and take a look at this if you're so intrested!" Standing, he moved to stare out a window temporarily, watching as the busy streets bustled with activity. Seconds later, his assistant and partner hurried back into the room, looking at him curiously before moving to the desk. Erik turned slowly, watching him as he examined the drawings, and smiled as the mans' eyes widened.  
  
"Brilliant, Erik!" He announced enthusiastically, looking up at him fast. "Simply god-damned brilliant!"  
  
Erik smiled in satisfaction.  
  
"I knew you would think so. There's only one little question I have for you. I've been thinking of an extra room. The senator, does anyone in his family have an intrest in music?" 


	18. Chapter Eighteen

"As you can see, Senator Fitzgerald, we've put in a small, but very lovely greenhouse, so that your family can enjoy the summertime flowers even in the dead of winter."  
  
"Yes. I was told that your wife enjoyed gardening." Erik added softly. It was the first time he'd spoken in over two hours, having simply let Robert rattle on, much to his annoyance. The Senator might not have been the brightest man alive, but he seemed just as annoyed by Robert's endless ranting as Erik. When Erik finally voiced his own small comment, the Senator appeared to take a bit of intrest in what was being said. He even seemed to show a bit of delight.  
  
"Oh, she dearly loves her flowers." He chuckled in response. "You've done a find job with the designing, Mr. Genie. Is there anything else you wish to tell me about the designs before I leave? I'm afraid I have another appointment in half an hour, and I can't be late. The man I'm meeting is extremely particular about punctuality."  
  
"The only thing I have to say, is that there might be a limited offer on the design." Erik said softly, politely. "I have several potential clients, and it would be difficult for me to keep them waiting on your desicion to accept my design or another contractors. The size of the business as it is now, it's difficult to have more than perhaps two clients at once. Granted, the business is prosperous, but it is still small."  
  
"Of course, of course." The Senator agreed hastily. "I wouldn't worry about waiting long for my desicion. It's just I have a few other appointments before I can make the desicion. I should give everyone a fair chance."  
  
"That's perfectly understandable." Erik nodded, standing to shake his hand, which the Senator returned agreeably. "It's was pleasant meeting you, Sir."  
  
"And you, most definately." The Senator was beaming as Robert showed him swiftly from the office, and into the small lobby just outside. Erik did not follow them, but the door to the office had been left open, and he heard several voices just outside.  
  
"Oh, Mrs. Genie!"  
  
"This is Mr. Genie's wife?"  
  
That caught Erik's attention immediately. Rising a second time from his desk, he moved to the door to see that his wife was just rising from the simple chair in which potential clients would wait to be seen. His eyes widened in joyful surprise, and he swiftly brushed directly past the senator in order to wrap her up in his arms. Smiling, and with a gentle laugh, Isabelle put her arms about him. He felt the softness of her body beneath the sky blue dress of silk she wore. The satin of her creme colored gloves felt delightful on the back of his neck.  
  
"Izzy! I hadn't expected you back home for days!" He greeted. "Mon amour, you amaze me!"  
  
"Lyre and I didn't want to be away from you for another night." Isabelle replied, backing away to kiss him. "Did I interrupt something?"  
  
"No, no, cherie. Just finishing with a meeting. Is Lyre here as well?" He took her face in his hands, thumbs gently brushing at her fine cheekbones. She was so utterly beautiful. They stared at each other, having forgotten about their audience.  
  
"She's at home. We parted ways at the train station, and took separate hacks."  
  
"Oh, Lord. . ." Erik rolled his eyes, groaning. "She's going to have a heart attack when she gets to the apartment. We have surprise guests! Marguerite and Fleur arrived from France the very day I came home."  
  
"Really?" Isabelle was just about as enthusiastic as he'd expected Allyriane to be. "How long are they staying for?"  
  
"I haven't gotten around to asking them that, yet." Erik conffessed almost sheepishly. "I've had a lot on my mind." Finally aknowledging the man behind him, he turned. "Senator Fitzgerald, this is my wife, Isabelle." He introduced her with a flourish, hand waving gracefully in her direction, before taking her elbow and leading her closer to the politician. Isabelle immediately became pale from shock.  
  
"It's a delight, Madam." The Senator took her hand, bowing over it briefly.  
  
"Yes, a delight." She agreed, still dumbfounded. Apparently, she didn't see meeting the Senator as a trivial event. Erik, on the other hand, could have cared less about the Senator's presence in those moments. The three nights he'd been away from his family had been all but completely unbarable.  
  
"She's just come home from a . . . vacation . . . in New York." He explained briefly. "She's tired from the train, as you can probably tell. I'm going to take her home directly. So, if you'll please excuse me. . ."  
  
"Mr. Genie!" Robert looked at his partner/employer with warning eyes. He didn't want the Senator so easily dismissed. Yet the Senator was grinning again.  
  
"I always admired men who were capable of putting their families first. Unfortunately, I don't always have that luxury." He conffessed. "Naturally, take her home. I must be going anyway."  
  
He simply bowed after that, not even waiting to give any more of a formal farewell than that. Robert watched him leave, attempting to speak through a huge lump in his throat, each attempt at a word coming out as nothing more than a bewildered squeak.  
  
"Do close your mouth before you truly resemble a fish." Erik told him sharply, but in good humor. Smiling, he turned back to Isabelle, and leaned down to give her another kiss. Now that they were practically alone, he was not shy about his desire for her. . . although this was not a kiss which would suggest private intimacy. When he pulled back, he could see that his bride was mildly flushed, which pleased him as it always did. "Come. Let's go home."  
  
He stepped from the rooms which made up the business offices, his beautiful wife on his arm. Somehow, he'd never been so amazed by her. Sliding an arm slowly around her waist, he drew her close as they moved down the narrow hallway, and towards the lift which would take them down to street level.  
  
"I have interesting news for you." He murmured softly as she closed the lift doors, and pushed the mechanisim which would send them downward. "This business has gained enough profit, since I took over, to move into a fresh, larger new building. We can start thinking about that sort of expansion now."  
  
"Really?" Isabelle's eyes met his, and she smiled at him joyfully. Her words of interest were sincere, but her mind seemed just as oblivious to the news as his own mind was. "That would be good for the business. This building is a bit less than appealing."  
  
"You have no idea." Erik agreed, chuckling. Abruptly, he released the lever which ought to bring them down, and caused the lift to come to a shuddering halt.  
  
Gasping, Isabelle grabbed hold of him with both hands, in order to keep her balance. Once she realized what he'd just done, her eyes moved up to his again, and her mouth dropped slightly. Erik gave her a dramatic look over, taking long notice of how much closer she'd just brought herself to him.  
  
"Something on your mind, Madame Genie?" He asked with a little smirk. Isabelle reached up, tapping his nose lightly, lips turning up into a silly grin.  
  
"Mr. Genie, behave yourself." She warned softly.  
  
"I always behave myself." He stated. "I, Madame, am the very seed from which good behavior comes." With that, he leaned down and gave her a precious, lingering kiss. Isabelle complied without protest, but their minds seemed to be in vaguely different places. When the kiss broke, her hand reached out for the lever to start up the lift once more.  
  
"I think it's time for us to go home." She stated. "Undoubtedly, you are as anxious to see our daughter as she is to see you. And I wish to see the girls."  
  
Wincing, Erik took over the control, and turned partially away from her. That had been a hard blow. Yet after a moment, her hand lightly massaged his arm, and he looked back down to her. She was smiling at him again.  
  
"We can send them to the theatre tonight." She whispered mischieviously.  
  
"You . . ." Erik's eyes widened. "Why, my little mynx!"  
  
She giggled softly, kissing his hand as she drew it up to her. 


	19. Chapter Nineteen

The ride home and the journey to their upstairs apartment had proven most interesting to Erik. However bold Isabelle had seemed in her youth, it seemed motherhood had made her slightly more sedate. Yet after their shared behavior in the lift at his office, he'd been very pleased to realize she still had a great deal of spunk, and could hand back whatever amount of suggestive teasing he gave out. Yet upon entering their home, they found the place surprisingly quiet and darkened. Marguerite and Fleur sat across from each other by a tiny hearth in the parlour, their eyes lowered, and in their own seemingly solemn thoughts. Allyriane was not to be seen.  
  
"Oh, girls! You look lovely!" Isabelle came forward quickly to embrace each of them as they stood to greet their hosts. Yet her eyes were also looking about for her daughter. "Have you been just sitting here all day, in the dark? Has Lyre not yet come home?"  
  
Both of the girls glanced at each other. Then Fleur looked towards Allyriane's bedroom door, which was firmly shut. Finally, they looked back to Erik.  
  
"We only meant to give our sympathy over the events that took place." Marguerite began softly. "She became so upset . . . you would think we had been mocking her. Oh, Papa . . . we never should have said anything."  
  
"Over . . . what are you saying?" Isabelle's eyes had widened a little, and she turned to look at Erik. "Erik! Did you actually tell them what happened without asking Lyre if it would be all right by her? How dreadful, Erik!"  
  
"I thought it would be best that they simply know." Erik looked utterly stunned as he turned to stare at his daughters' bedroom door. "I didn't mean to hurt her by telling them. They're family to us, and family should have no . . ." He stopped, realizing how hypocritical that his words would've been.  
  
"Erik, you can hardly go telling people about something so horrible without your own daughters' permission!" His wife scolded. "Oh, Lord, Erik. This is a mess."  
  
"Oh, Izzy, please calm down." Sighing, Erik moved towards his daughters door, his words being the complete end to her minor rampage. Gently, he tapped on the door. "Lyre? Est-ce que je peux entrer?"  
  
There was a long silence, and he held his breath out of anxiousness. Finally, a shadow could be seen underneath the door, and he heard it the lock snap out of place.  
  
"Come in, papa."  
  
Slowly, Erik pushed open the door, and immediately caught sight of his daughter's reflection in the quaint vanity mirror he'd bought for her dresser five years before. She was just resuming her spot on the bed, one leg dangling over, and the other up and bent on the mattress. She was wearing a pair of slacks that Marguerite and Fleur's brother, Gerard, hand grown out of long before, as he was a rather large fellow. Erik allowed Lyre to wear them around the house, yet he was still partial to seeing ladies in skirts. Seeing her in slacks hardly made him feel comfortable. Still, he was in her room now. This was her territory. He would not tell her how to dress in her own sanctuary.  
  
"Lyre . . . I hope you can forgive me. . ." He said quietly. Her eyes lifted to his face abruptly, looking quite honestly startled.  
  
"Forgive you, Papa?" She echoed. "Papa, what on earth is there for me to forgive? What did you do?"  
  
He was bewildered. She wasn't angry at him for telling Fleur and Marguerite how she'd been raped? Why had she shut herself away in this room? Why had she gotten so upset?  
  
"Aren't you mad at me for telling . . ."  
  
"Oh! Papa! No!" Standing, she moved to take his hand between both of her own insistently. "It isn't that! It isn't that at all! Of course you had to tell them. Unfortunately, their knowledge didn't keep them silent. It upset me to speak of it. That's all. I haven't thought of it in so many days, and to have them confronting me with their unwanted pity. I didn't want to ever think of it again."  
  
"I understand how you feel about pity. Believe me, I know more than you or your mother would ever understand." His hand slipped from her grasp, and rose to touch her cheek. "Get dressed and join us outside. Your mother and I have brought a surprise back for the three of you."  
  
"Surprise?" Erik couldn't help but smile at her tone. The word surprise always lit up her face, as though the sun were illuminating it. She adored surprises of any and all favorable kind. Even thinking about the recent horrible past could not bring her down from the excitement of an impending surprise.  
  
"That's correct." He chuckled. "Now, hop to it, ma cherie."  
  
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"Erik . . . the girls left nearly an hour ago. I wager you haven't even noticed."  
  
Turning slowly from the parlor window, Erik realized he had been completely lost in his thoughts. The surprise for Allyriane and the other two girls had been tickets to a dramatization of 'Faust', at the local theatre. They'd decided to go to supper together first, and catch up on one another's lives, so Erik and Isabelle had been left alone much earlier than expected. Yet, as his lovely wife had just pointed out, he had barely even noticed their departure. Looking towards his beautiful love, he was vaguely astonished to see her in a silk night dress, and gauze robe which left her quite exposed to him - in comparison to the layers of gown she'd been wearing earlier. He remembered their conversation in the elevator. She'd been serious about seducing him, and here he was staring out into space.  
  
"I . . . I am very sorry, my dearest." He whispered to her in French. "As you see, my thoughts are quite far away."  
  
"Yes. . ." She looked disappointed as she approached him, lightly reaching up to cup the back of his neck in her right hand. "Is something bothering you, Erik? You look so pensive."  
  
"I am." He admitted simply. "I have been thinking about my past, which the Comte has been so good as to drag into our present lives."  
  
"Oh, Erik! Don't think about that now. . ." Ever defensive over his emotions, Isabelle trailed the fingers of her left hand over his face, tracing each detail. "Here we are . . . alone . . . for a few hours now . . . and you can only think of the ridiculous arguement -"  
  
"Izzy, it wasn't just some ridiculous arguement." He countered softly, gently. "The Comte saw my past, Isabelle. There are so many things that he knows about which you could never guess. If he had the ability, he'd drag me to Paris in chains, and put me on trial for the things I did back then."  
  
"Erik, you are simply incorrigable." Isabelle smiled at him tenderly. "I couldn't set up a more romantic few hours alone if I tried, and you can only be gloomy. Do you remember when the last time we were alone long enough to make love without fear of being disturbed was? Almost fourteen years now."  
  
Sighing, he shook his head, and gently put both arms around her, pulling her tightly against him.  
  
"I am so sorry." He breathed. "God . . . if this had happened a few hours earlier, the night might have been salvagable."  
  
"We can still save it." Pulling from his arms, she took his hand and led him to the paino. "Here is our savior, as it always has been. See? Now sit down and play the song you wrote for me on our first anniversary."  
  
Obedient, Erik lowered himself to the black piano bench, and poised his hands carefully over the keys. Isabelle sat beside him, one hand poised above his right. Smiling ever-so-lightly, he looked into her eyes, and then began playing. In only a few seconds of introduction, they were swaying together.  
  
"Let me pave a path of roses. No dirt will touch your toes. The sunlight bathes your skin each day, but never will it compare. Your beauty is unimaginable. My love for you is unreal. Let me pave a path of roses, to guide you through our love. Perhaps it would guide me too, as I get lost in the fog of my love. Perhaps I will find one day, in love, when I cannot love you more."  
  
Smiling, Isabelle met his lips with her own, silencing his beauteous lyrics. Yet his fingers continued playing through the melody several seconds longer. Finally, her arm reached across his body, pushing his hands away from the keys until she had complete control over him. Erik gave in to her gentle pressure, and both arms slid around her posessively. How the tragic event of the past months had not bogged her mind in depression, he had no idea. Perhaps he could learn her technique to keep that world at bay in these few hours.  
  
That evening, he realized that she was a mervellous teacher.  
  
@--}---  
  
"It really is a lovely ring, Lyre. But it isn't a diamond." Sitting in a quiet but somewhat elegant restaraunt with Allyriane and her sister, Marguerite translated Fleur's rapid hand motions. It had been a while since Allyriane had needed to interpret for herself, and having Marguerite translate was a great deal easier when her mind was spinning as it was tonight.  
  
"Yes, Fleur. I know it isn't a diamond." Allyriane smiled at her 'sister' serenely. "Charles has already pointed that out. It's Austrian Crystal. I don't need a diamond to be happy. He asked me to marry him, and that's a far greater gift than any jewel."  
  
"Oh, Mon Dieu!" Marguerite laughed softly. "Lyre, you have a touch of the poet in you! Sometimes I wonder that you weren't born straight from his blood and nothing else. You just barely look like your mother, and that seems to be the only thing you have in common."  
  
"You'd be surprised." Allyriane said quietly, chosing not to illustrate her point any further. "Anyhow, how long will you be in America?"  
  
"We don't have any plans." Marguerite conffessed. "We simply told our mother that we would wire her when we planned on returning to Paris. Who knows! Maybe we'll grow to love America, and simply stay in Boston!"  
  
"That would be wonderful." Allyriane's eyes widened. "But you are Parisians if ever I have seen one! You could never truly leave France!"  
  
"You never know." Marguerite shrugged, again interpreting for Fleur. She looked to a clock hung up against the far back wall of the room. "We had better go, soon. We need to reach the theatre in time to find our seats."  
  
"Oh, can you imagine? My father buying tickets to a drama!" Allyriane began to laugh suddenly, helplessly. "I never would have thought him even capable of it!" 


End file.
